Flight of the Bumblebee
by chicpea
Summary: A/H, SPOV. Following a breakup, Sookie leaves to rebuild her life back home in Louisiana. Reclaiming a sense of herself as she copes with the mess left behind and the drama that follows, she has help from friends, and Eric, of course. Complete!
1. Five Star Flight

A/N - I enjoy writing, but have written nothing of length in ages, so I'm using y'all to get my groove back. Here is All Human Eric and Sookie, with some very loose following of the thread of the books. Sookie catches Bill cheating, storms out, and is quickly caught up in Eric's world.

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><p>"Am I?" I shouted back at him, surprised. I turned and stared back at him expectantly. This seemed like the least ridiculous thing I had done in ages.<p>

"You...I...just come back inside sweethe-," he started to splutter and I threw my palm up in a stop gesture that effectively halted his floundering. Maybe it was more of a hand-to-God gesture. Either way, I pressed my lips tight between my teeth as I drew a deep breath through my nose, trying to push aside the dozens of obscenities which he so richly deserved rather than the last shred of my composure I determined to give him.

"No. No more of 'sweetheart' from you, Bill Compton. We are through. Do not call me. Do not write. Do not send flowers. You have humiliated me. You brought another woman into my bed and let me find you there? You don't get to say anything else to me. You just shut. Your. Mouth." I finished firmly as he stood there gaping like a fish out of water. It wasn't a brilliant last retort, but he had made it pretty clear that he did not consider me to be a brilliant woman. My own bed. He had her in my own bed. I turned away again, stepped into the back seat of the hired town car, and slammed the door, clicking the lock.

"Airport," I said to the driver, my voice breaking. I turned to stare at the oversized purse I had hauled into the car with me. I had a change of clothes, a book, and my cell phone. The phone started to ring, and I turned it off. As we pulled into traffic, I finally let myself dissolve into tears.

The forty minute ride to the domestic departures terminal passed quickly. I hastily overpaid the driver and practically leapt from the car, pausing only to thank him. I must have looked a wreck as I stepped up to the booking counter.

"Home is in Louisiana. Please get me there, quick as you can," I said to the woman with an imploring tone, placing my license and a credit card down on the counter with an apologetic smile before turning my gaze downwards. No doubt I was pink, splotchy, and swollen. There was a cute little airplane pattern on the navy blue carpet, like you might find in a children's play room. The service woman told me there was a flight in three hours, but she had only first class seats left. Otherwise, I could wait until tomorrow. I told her I'd take it. I didn't know how I was going to pay for it, but the quicker I could put two thousand miles between me and Bill, the better.

I found myself in the bathroom of the first class lounge sometime later. I hadn't really been paying attention on my way in. People have emergencies all the time. I'm sure mine was not the first tear-stained face that the staff here had come across. Suddenly I felt horrible. They could be thinking someone had died, or was near to death. Ugh. Pull it together Sookie.

There was a shower stall in the bathroom there, so I went right ahead and took one. I actually did feel better. I pulled on my change of clothes, a cosy sweater and a pair of jeans. I brushed my hair out and pulled it back into a neat ponytail. I didn't bother with makeup. I was casual as can be when I settled into one of the deep leather armchairs in the lounge to wait for my flight. I accepted a gin and tonic with a grateful smile from the steward. I pulled my tacky romance novel from my bag without a second thought and started reading. Distraction was good.

"Can I freshen this for you Miss...?" came the voice over my shoulder as I saw a hand in my peripheral view start to pull my drink away.

"Stackhouse," I finished for him, turning around with a grateful smile that fell as soon as I caught sight of who was standing behind me.

"Sookie Stackhouse," he said with a grin.

"Eric Northman," I grimaced.

"Gin and tonic, was it?"

I motioned to take the glass back from him, "Never you mind," I clipped. Bill's boss. Bill and Lorena's both, come to that. Bill's lecherous, jerk of a boss. He just has to show up here, now, tonight. Bill's rich, smarmy boss with his gorgeous butt and his stupid smile. Did he know? He had to have known. All this time. What an ass! So what is he, gloating? He pulled the glass back out of my reach, giving me that smile. He seemed to be gloating. Yes, shame on me for not being unfaithful to my ultimately unfaithful boyfriend. I've certainly had my comeuppance, haven't I, Mister Northman? Now go have your laugh at me out of my earshot. I pressed my lips into a thin line again, stifling my internal tirade, and turned back to my book. Not here. Not here, not here, not here. I'll be home in hours. Real home. I can fall apart there. Or maybe at the nearest airport hotel. Not here.

I heard his chuckle as he walked away. A few minutes later a fresh glass was set down on the small table next to me, while he settled into the chair adjacent. I did not look up. I could feel that my cheeks had flushed in my anger again and I was trying to calm myself.

"Where are you headed?" he asked, politely.

"Home," I stated.

"Ah. The twelve-thirty flight?" he asked. And I nodded. "What a coincidence," he said. I could hear him smiling. "I have a business lunch in the city tomorrow," he continued, "but I'm free for dinner." I couldn't help myself. I looked up, shocked at his nerve. He winked at me. I slammed my book closed. The soft thud of the paperback was barely audible over the surrounding noise of the lounge, but the expression on my face could not be mistaken for anything but irritation.

"Mister Northman, please leave me be. I can't..." Oh great, there we go. Tears are back. "I can't be the butt of your jokes right now," I finished lamely. This is just perfect. He looks taken aback as I give a large sniff and press my balled fist into my eye, wishing my hair were down to better hide my face.

"Sookie? What is wrong?" he asks, more quietly. What on earth is he playing at?

I've known Eric Northman almost as long as I've known Bill. He's a vice president at Area Five, technology conglomerate, where Bill works, under Lorena. And over her, too, apparently. I shuddered, returning momentarily to the scene I'd walked in on tonight before I snapped myself out of it.

"Bill," I answered softly, waiting to gauge his reaction.

"Is he...?" he started to ask a question but I finished for him.

"And Lorena."

"Ah." No tone of surprise. I was right. He had known. Everyone had known, but me. Poor, silly Sookie, sad and blind. My field of vision filled with azure blue as he pushed his handkerchief in front of my face. I stared at the cotton anachronism for a moment before taking it and dabbing at my eyes and nose.

"Pam will be so pleased I've finally managed to put one to use," he says dryly. "She buys so many."

I said nothing in response, staring down at the black embroidered N on the small fabric square. I knew Pam too, of course, from the same of Bill's work parties and social functions where I knew Eric. She was his second. She was technically an executive assistant, but I'd never confused her for anything like a mere secretary. They were a team. I liked Pam well enough.

"I suppose she assumes you always leave them weeping," I said with another sniffle and a weak attempt at a smile, folding the cloth and tucking it surreptitiously into the sleeve of my sweater.

"Yes, that is the joke," he confirmed without humor. "Though they rarely cry," he finished. After a pause, he gave me a winsome grin.

"So, Bill's a bastard after all, hm?" I nodded in response. "Better you know now," he finished lightly.

"Better? Now?" I asked incredulously. "What, now that I've moved clear across the country?" I started to go shrill immediately. Well, I had tried to warn him off. He was the one who was pressing conversation.

"You could have married him," he pointed out, all practical helpfulness. I could have laughed. I started to, and found myself sobbing. Again. He hadn't wanted to get married! It was such an antiquated notion. Who did we need to justify our relationship to but ourselves? Almost three years. I was an outright fool. I was not going to confirm that to Eric Northman, however. He had already made it clear in the past that he assumed it. I forced myself to calm down again and turned my attention to my drink, ignoring the giant lady killer hovering in the adjacent chair for as long as I could.

"Thank you Eric," I finally said. "It's been nice to see a friendly face," I added, feeling genuinely proud that I could muster such convincing pleasantries. "But I'm afraid I'm not very good company just now. I'll leave you to wait for your flight," I finish, and hastily gather my book into my purse, stowing his handkerchief as well. I know better than to offer it back to him after using it. Yuck. Before he can say anything else, I have made my way out of the lounge and back into the bright bustle of the airport. I had thought to do some shopping, but all the many stores and restaurants that line the terminal seem to be already closed or closing up for the night. I guess I'll find a toothbrush when I land in New Orleans. So I walk, up and down, past a dozen gates and back again. I'll be sitting for long enough, soon enough.

After passing my gate for the third time, I finally heard my boarding call. I double (quadruple?) back, and join the long line already queued up to enter the plane. I glance down to make sure my ticket and boarding pass are all in order. B4, that's my seat. I start to muse on that as I trudge forward one step at a time with the rest of the passengers. It is indeed a full flight. I'm heading back to... before. Except what was actually left? I hadn't even thought about the house. I'm suddenly immensely grateful that we hadn't found - that I, singular, hadn't found tenants before I'd, we'd, left. Oh hell. My name is Sookie Stackhouse, and I am newly single. Please pardon my pronouns for the next several weeks as I readjust. So I'm heading back to before, before. Before Bill. Before Lorena. Before Area Five. Before closing up my Gran's old house. Before moving to Seattle. Before betrayals and big fat broken trust and a sad little weeping heart, before. B4. Next to B3.

"Hello again," he smiles up, from the aisle seat.

I returned his grin with a weary smile of my own as he stands and I inch past him to settle into my seat.

"Nothing for the overhead?" he asks me, shrugging out of his suit jacket and handing it to the attendant. She seems very eager to attend to him. I smirk to myself, passing over my own coat.

"Nothing else," I answered, and give my purse a pat. "I'm travelling light."

He gives me a confused look before asking, "When did..?"

"Just tonight," I interrupt. "At our new place. In my bed," I finish smoothly. I sound way more nonchalant than I feel. I've probably over-shared. Thankfully I seem to be out of tears for the time being.

"And you came directly to the airport?"

"Yes," I nod. The flight attendant has finally taken the hint and leaves to stow our coats.

"Well that's extreme," he says, and begins to pull his shoes off. "Do you want a blanket? I usually try to sleep on these."

I blink and then nod at him. And then feel the need to clarify. "Yes, the blanket. What do you mean extreme? What was I to do, wait around and listen to his excuses?"

"Well you've been together what, two or three years now? And something catastrophic happens, and your first response is to immediately leave the state?"

My mouth falls open and my eyes go wide of their own accord. Is he actually sitting here condemning me for hastiness in this?

"I mean all that time and you wouldn't want to stick around and find out..." he continues, reacting to my glare. "Or, I don't know, at least pack?"

He has the blankets now out of the overhead, and I snatch mine from him and turn into the wall, pressing my forehead against the tiny window. I huddle down under the thin felt wishing it were more of a barrier. He seems to take the hint, though, and doesn't ask anything else.

"He didn't tell her to leave," I finally said. I didn't turn around to face him. We were taxiing by now. He was probably not asleep yet. "She just stayed in my bed. He jumped up, when I walked in... but she... stayed there. The whole time. She didn't even pull the sheets over herself. She asked me what I was doing there."

He pushed the armrest between our seats up and pulled me into a hug. He shifted himself so his legs stretched out under the seat in front of mine. I presume the gesture wasn't entirely selfless, as he can definitely benefit from the leg room, but it was pretty appreciated in that moment. He hushed me as I murmured my thank you. I wrapped my arm around his ribs and cried silently into his chest through takeoff, until I finally fell asleep.

Some time later, I was shaken awake. "Sookie," I heard Eric say, as though he's been saying it for some time. I pulled myself up abruptly, rubbing sleep from my eyes and pushing my hair back. I'm pretty sure I had just been snuggling with Eric Northman.

"There's a storm in Nola. They're landing us in Dallas." He sounded annoyed. Well, I couldn't blame him. I wanted to be home, but I had no time frame. This was a business trip for him, I thought. He would have to reschedule things.

"How bad?" I asked immediately, worried. Habit.

"Just bad enough to fuck up my day tomorrow I'm sure," he practically spat. Someone is definitely grumpy when he first wakes up. "They're saying they could put us in some kind of motel for the night and fly us out 'as weather permits'. I'm going to see if I can rent a car."

"Eric, it's 500 miles," I started to say.

"You don't have to come then," he barked back. "I need to be in the city by one o'clock this afternoon."

"Eric they'll understand the weather," I tried. He gave me a look that indicated that anonymous 'they' most certainly would not, and that I was pretty dumb for even suggesting they might.

"We'll be on the ground in twenty minutes. Fuck." He said again. He took out his phone and began playing with it. A few moments later his slammed his fist into the ceiling, over the call button. The very attentive flight attendant appeared a moment later with her pretty smile.

"Sir?" she started to ask, before he thrust his blackberry at her.

"Get this connected to the internet. I need to have a car waiting for me when we land."

"Sir, if you follow the instructions on the homepage, you will be able to access our in-flight wireless servi-" He was practically growling halfway through her recitation. I leaned across him, patting him on the knee and took the phone back from her hands, offering an apologetic smile. I quickly accessed the in-flight wifi for him, using my own credit card number, before handing it back to him. He'd comforted me. I could spend the $14.95 on 6 minutes of internet service for him. Plus, it was nice to solve someone else's problems so readily, when mine seemed completely beyond me. And besides, he gave good hug, even if he was kind of a jerk in general.

"Sir we will be landing momentarily, I will need to ask that you turn off all..." This time he was ready to roar, and I did my lean across thing again and mouthed 'one moment' to her, letting her know I had the matter in hand. I took the phone back from him a second time and quickly navigated through to confirm an SUV at the Dallas airport before holding the phone aloft so she could see me switch it off.

I finally pulled myself into a proper sitting position and nudged his legs away. He had his arms folded, still looking extremely irritated. I rubbed my eyes again and tried to straighten my hair. "We have the reservation in. They'll have a car waiting for us. We'll have to drive all night, but we'll get there. Okay?"

"You're coming then?" he asked abruptly.

"Well it's in my name. I would have had to rent one when I got in to New Orleans anyway," I half-lied. I'd been planning on spending a couple of days in the city before heading north to the house. I didn't have any of the utilities back on again. It had only been closed down for a month. How long could it take to get everything switched on again? I could still get a hotel after I'd dropped him off wherever he was going. I'd probably need one night at least, and then I could head to my brother, Jason's. I had a semblance of a plan. I pulled my shoes back on feeling somewhat better as I felt the plane angle into sharper descent.

Dallas International airport was huge and packed with people. Apparently they were getting all the reroutes from the gulf region. I didn't know the airport very well, but Eric seemed to. He'd carried on a garment bag along with his laptop, and I just had my bulky purse, so we didn't have to wait around for luggage, which seemed a blessing to me as we breezed past the madhouse surrounding the baggage carousels on the way to the rental desk.

"Aren't you glad I didn't pack?" I tried to quip, when we finally reached the line at the desk. I was mildly out of breath. He had quite a stride and had made a bee-line. He glowered down at me, and I rolled my eyes. He maintained his grimace when we were called up, and the rental man seemed relieved to be able to direct all his talking to me, doing his best to ignore Eric's withering stare. I did my best to be perky at four a.m. and Jeff seemed to be struggling with same. He was in for a lousy day full of unhappy people. Poor Jeff.

Once the paperwork was through, we made our way up to the parking garage and found our vehicle waiting. Again I had to pity the young man who was waiting to meet us and survey the rental, cringing as Eric snapped at him and practically seized the gps device out of his hands while the poor kid was still giving his standard spiel. When Eric moved to take the driver's seat I had to interject.

"Nuh uh," I said, pointing across to the passenger seat and giving him a not very soft push out of the way. "I'll take the first leg. You plainly need a nap."

"Do you drive like an old southern woman?" he asked, without moving.

"No more than you charm like a Northman this morning," I retorted. Again, not my best, but it was too early, or too late, for my wit, and he'd been a first class jerk for the last hour. He took the passenger seat. I signed the release, tipped the attendant, programmed New Orleans into the little talking box, and off we went, guided by the dulcet murmurings of an authoritative British woman.

We made it to the highway without incident, and after a few minutes the tension that has been rolling off him seemed to ebb. "So you're not great with surprises, huh?" I hedged.

"Not today," he replied.

"What's today?" I asked. I could feel him staring at me, but I didn't look over. He said nothing, but after another long silence I couldn't help but ask, "What?"

He gave a sigh, agitated that he should have to explain. "You know, I guess I should be pleased that Bill honors his NDA even if he ignores his personal commitments." I raised an eyebrow. He could see my expression, but I still didn't turn my eyes from the road. "We're preparing for a merger. It's running a little differently than our general course of acquisitions because it's intended to be a true marriage of the companies. Top levels from both will be staying on board. But it's still a power struggle, and it's a lot of trust expended. It's precarious. My meeting is with them. We're not at a stage where there's a lot of leeway for fuckups."

I hold up my hand to stop him. Business gets done, and I have little interest in this sort of thing, which I'm sure helps Boy Scout Bill uphold his Non-Disclosure Agreement at home. Helped. Past tense. He won't have to mind his tongue with Lorena around. His tongue and Lorena. Ugh. Damn it. "Important meeting with important people. Got it," I said shortly.

"It's not that alone. We're concerned about the possibility of a takeover. In approaching this as we are, we're leaving ourselves open to..."

I cut him off. "Look, this sort of thing is even less my concern than ever. But we will get you there. On time. Don't worry. Maybe you should sleep."

"Is something wrong? You seem," I caught his sweeping gesture out of the corner of my eye, "Bothered, about something?"

Unbelievable. "Well yes, I received some mildly distressing news last night in a mildly distressing fashion. I may have mentioned it."

"Bill again? You seemed fine at the airport."

"I. Seemed? It's not as though I had much of a choice with you being plainly on the verge of tirade with everyone we've met."

"Do you intend to harp at me for the entire drive?"

I said nothing further. Eric Northman, ladies and gentleman. Still the asshole I knew he was. I wonder what he was drinking last night that made him so sweet for an hour or so. Honey straight from the comb maybe. Only thing I can think of. I snorted to myself in the silence then switched on the radio, low. It was some drawling country singer and I hummed along, neither in the right key nor with the right rhythm. I didn't care one bit. About half an hour later he started to snore.

The first time I'd met Eric had been one of Bill's business functions, a black tie fundraiser for community outreach and development. You know, the same sort of thing that my sorority was doing, hands on, every weekend. Well whatever. Businessmen want to build playgrounds, who am I to stop them. I was still in school at the time but he had just sold his startup to Area Five and was eager to impress his newly acquired bosses. So I had my new dress, in periwinkle blue, with dyed satin strappy shoes to match. I tried, but just couldn't find anything else in the right color. They didn't look bad though. I hadn't thought so, anyway. I'd had my hair done up, my nails buffed, my legs waxed. I was nervous, but I thought I looked pretty great. And Pamela Ravenscroft thought I looked like Arm Candy Barbie, and Eric Northman had agreed, with mirth. They hadn't realized I'd overheard that while I was at the bar getting a Dr. Pepper, I'm pretty sure.

By the time I was properly introduced to them later, Eric had been joined by his own escort, and yes, I certainly do mean the connotations attached to that word. The girl had less class than a habitual truant. Her dress was skimpy and gold colored, her hair could have used a wash, and she looked in sore need of a sandwich or three. I tried to be gracious, I really did. I pretended not to notice as she implied that my breasts were fake (they are not). I ignored her remark about the cut of my dress being forgiving to 'excess bulk' (they're called hips, twiggy, women have them). She had entirely too much fun with the idea that I worked as a waitress to cover the costs of my tuition. She strained my big fake smile as she pulled Pam over by the arm and introduced me as "Bill's Barmaid". That was it for me. I remember squaring my shoulders and explaining softly that I'd been proud to pay my own way through school, and that I was on track to graduate cum laude. I said that I was lucky to have a job that paid as well as it did, while accommodating my class schedule, and that I was happy in it because my co-workers tended to be kind and considerate by nature. And then I politely excused myself. And then I walked out to the patio. And then I kicked the stone balustrade in pent up frustration and snapped one of the straps on my sandals.

"Those dyeables just don't hold up," drawled Pam, who had apparently followed me.

"No, I suppose not," I retorted. "But the Pierre Hardy's were two semesters worth of books and I could find nothing else in the right color."

That remark apparently earned me a smile. "All in good time, my dear. You're finished in May?" I nodded. "And your plans? Are you in software as well?"

"Secondary education," I'd said. "I plan to teach middle school."

"How wholesome," she'd snarked. "Well, you know what they say. Those who can, do..."

I rolled my eyes at her. "Did you need something Pam? I know I'm meant to be here to help Bill impress you people, but this Bimbo Barbie is pretty much through being played with tonight."

There was her smile again. "How long have you and Bill been together?"

"A couple of months, why?"

"I could say it's because we're a family oriented business and we like to know our employees, but really, I'm just being nosy." She paused. "What do you think of the boss man?"

"Eric?"

"That's the one."

"Good taste in suits and assistants, terrible taste in dates."

"I picked the suit," she smirked.

"Well. Good job there," I had nothing else to say. Bill had wandered out to the patio then, followed closely by Eric and Escort. I hastily tucked my snapped strap between my foot and the sole of the shoe and stepped to Bill's side to give him a Meaningful Look. I hoped he was done impressing, because I was ready to go. He took my hint.

"Well it's been great to see you both away from the office," said Bill, speaking mostly to Eric but turning to incline his head toward Pam as well. "I'll phone your office next week to setup that lunch we discussed."

"Certainly," said Eric, before turning his attention to me. He lifted my hand weirdly by my fingertips, as though her were going to kiss it, but then thought the better of it and let it drop after a moment. "Miss Stackhouse, a pleasure to meet you."

"It was nice to meet you as well Mister Northman," I stated coolly before turning to his assistant and flashing a plastic grin. "See ya 'round, Pam."

"See ya, Barbie," she quipped, and this time I chuckled along with her as Bill took my arm and turned us to lead back through the party to the exit.

"Oh, Compton," called out Eric, and Bill paused. "See if you can't find Ball on your way out. She was looking for you earlier."

I had to wonder now if there was something going on between them even way back then, and if he knew. I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to have it confirmed. But if I were going to find out, wouldn't it be better to take in the full measure of the betrayal at once? As much as I was hurt, I realized I was in equal parts livid. Keeping one eye on the road I fished for my cell phone, and powered it on for the first time since last night. After a moment it started chirping and chiming to alert me of missed messages and emails, and even a voicemail. Seriously Bill? Voicemail?

I checked my texts first.

Sent by Bill - 8:07 p.m. Where are you going?

Sent by Bill - 9:15 p.m. Call me back ASAP.

Sent by Bill - 9:20 p.m. Turn on your phone.

Sent by Bill - 9:55 p.m. At home alone waiting for your call.

Nice, Bill. Glad to see you took time to finish her off before sending her home.

Sent by Lafayette - 10:15 p.m. y is your bf callin me 2 ask for "her gay friend Lafayette"?

I snorted at this. I know exactly how that conversation went. "Good evening, this is William Compton, Sookie's boyfriend. Is this her gay friend, Lafayette?" He always refers to Laf as my "gay friend, Lafayette," to distinguish him from the myriad other Lafayettes in my acquaintance, I'm sure.

Sent by Bill - 10:20 p.m. Contacted your gay friend Lafayette, he is worried as well.

My ex is kind of an ass independent of the whole being a lying cheating rat bastard thing, huh?

Sent by Bill - 12:05 a.m. Going to bed.

Sent by Bill - 1:35 a.m. Good night. I love you.

I scoffed audibly and flicked down the visor. The sun was well up at this point. We had crossed into Louisiana a short while ago and were just a few minutes outside of Shreveport. We were about 6 hours from New Orleans. It was just after 7. I'd have to drive extra fast for a little while. But first, time to fill up the gas tank and use the ladies'. Eric was still dead to the world as I pulled into a rest stop along the highway, even with the sun shining full in his face. If he was pretending, he was a great faker. I tried to ask him what he wanted in the way of coffee, but he didn't stir. I paid and pumped the gas. My poor credit card was getting a workout today. It occurred to me briefly that if he really wanted to, Bill could probably look up my transactions online. He'd have my bills at home, and he could probably answer any security questions I'd set up to bypass my passwords. Not that it was such a big secret where I'd go, once he'd figured out I'd left Washington, but, the thought made me uncomfortable.

I called my credit card company from the ladies' wash room and explained the situation. They said it would be best I cancelled my card and got a new one issued, but I didn't want to proceed with that until I was settled somewhere, since I still needed to use it. So we blocked the online access as a temporary measure, and established a security phrase for all phone transactions. Prompt: Who is asleep in the SUV? Answer: Eric Northman. It was something I'd never forget, and he'd never guess in a million years. Really, what were the odds? They couldn't tell me over the phone if anyone had tried to access the records already. I wasn't clear on if they didn't know, or they weren't allowed to tell me. The setup would have to do for now.

I went inside and grabbed two cups of coffee (I went ahead and just fixed them my way, milk, no sugar. If he didn't like that, well, he should have woken up!), a redbull, a bottle of coke, a bottle of tea, a raspberry Danish, a granola bar, a banana, an apple, and a turkey sandwich. Figuring I had all the bases covered for both a healthful and a not so healthful breakfast, I got back on the road. Once I hit the the I-49 South I felt a little more confident about speeding. These were my stomping grounds, and the run from Shreveport to Nola was familiar. I knew where the speed traps were, and that they weren't usually set at 8 a.m. on a Tuesday morning. By nine we were past Alexandria and I was flagging. I bit my lip, a little afraid of waking the grump, but we were only about three hours out of our destination with four hours on the clock. That should be okay, right? I dithered for another twenty minutes as I cruised on toward Baton Rouge, before finally trying to wake him in earnest.

"Northman! Wake up." Nothing. "Northman!" I tried again. Finally he groaned, stirred, and then suddenly jumped up with a jolt.

"We're less than three hours out with a little time to spare if we stay on track. I need a break from the driving when you're ready, but there's breakfast in the bag by your feet. The coffee's gone cold, but we can get fresh when we stop to change if you want," he was already rummaging the bag and had cracked open the redbull. He had the apple in the other hand and the sandwich and the Danish in his lap. I guess I'd chosen well. I took the turnoff for the next rest stop and tossed him the keys. He'd still barely spoken. "Your turn for gas. How do you take your coffee?" I asked him.

"Just milk." He answered, and I nodded approvingly. I collected the empty cups, cans, and wrappers, and left him to top off the tank while I took care of business inside. I bought a toothbrush. Glancing into the mirror while I washed up, I realized I looked exactly like I'd been awake all night after crying for most of the evening. I splashed my face with cool water, straightened my sweater, and rolled my eyes at my own reflection. Breakup Barbie. I fixed his coffee, grabbed another couple of sandwiches and headed out. He was still fussing adjusting the seat when I entered.

"Did they have a step ladder out so you could reach the counter to pay for all that?" He griped, as the electronic mechanism slowly allowed his knees to unbend enough behind the wheel. At 5'6", I fall well into the average range of height. I lifted my eyebrows, saying nothing. Yup, still a grouch. A jolly green grouch at that. I wonder how long this takes to wear off. I seriously hope this wears off.

Handing him his coffee over the seat I said, with a big fake smile, "Good morning sunshine! Are we ready for our super important business meetings today?" Without waiting for his response I hoisted myself into my seat (positioned approximately two miles from the dashboard) and fastened my safety belt. He sort of grunted again, but smirked, and we were off on the final leg of our journey.

I closed my eyes. I was still a bit too caffeinated, not to mention uncomfortable, to fall asleep, but my eyes needed a rest. After a long silence he asked, "Sookie?"

"Mm?" I responded.

"What is the plan, once we get there?"

"Oh, I'll just drop you off at your meeting and take the car back to the airport. I think I'm going to stay in the city for a night before heading back north. I need to call my brother, and I need to get everything turned on back at the house."

"You and Bill bought a house down here?" he asks, surprised.

"No, I - My grandmother left me our house. We didn't find a tenant before his job started in Seattle so we just closed it out. It shouldn't be too much trouble to get settled back there."

He paused for a long moment before seeming to settle on, "Well that's convenient."

"Yup," I chirped. I was a little bit irritated by his obvious surprise that I owned my own house. "Inheritances come in blue collar as well as white, you know. It's no mansion, but it's more than enough for me."

"Not what I meant," he replied quickly. After another pause, "And then, you'll teach up there again?"

I grimaced. "I suppose I will. I'd been trying to find a job in Seattle, but it's difficult mid-year, but there's always tutoring. I have enough to live on until I'm settled. I guess I'll need a car again." I'd sold mine before the move. We hadn't needed two, up north. How did he even know about my teaching? I couldn't remember having that conversation with him. I suppose Pam must have blabbed some of our girl talk at some point. It made me uncomfortable to think I'd been a further subject of conversation between them.

"But you'll be in town tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Where are you staying? I think I promised you a dinner. I certainly owe you after all this." We'd finally caught up to the rain, but the worst of the storm had blown out. He'd clicked the wipers on and their steady swish swish gave a tempo to the silence.

"Oh, wherever I can get a shuttle from the car place, I think. I'm not too picky. I just need a good night's sleep and a chance to warn my brother I'll need a crash pad for a few days. In fact, I should call him now," I added, more to myself. I started to fish around in the fathomless depths of my purse for my phone again when it started to chirp. Well, the homing beacon helped. Unfortunately, the caller was, "Bill," I sighed, hitting the ignore button. "I had it off until a couple of hours ago. He texted seven times and left a voicemail." After a moment it chirped again. "Make that two voicemails."

"He seems pretty determined for a guy caught with his pants down," Eric offered.

I scoffed and dialled my phone to hear what he had to say.

"Yesterday at. Ten. Thirty. Nine. ... Sweetheart, I know you walked in on something you perceived to be unconscionable. I completely understand your immediate reaction to the incident this evening. I hope that you will call me when you calm down. I am planning to contact some of your friends and your brother to alert them of your distressed state. I am worried about you. Please come home, or call me, if you need me to come and get you. I know I will hear from you soon. I love you Sookie."

I stared at my phone in disbelief. Eric's interest was piqued. He was watching me practically more than the road. I pointed forward with a scowl and told him to concentrate on driving, but I replayed the message again on speaker. Then I deleted it. I played the next, keeping the volume up.

"Today at. Ten. Forty. Five. ... Sookie, I woke this morning to find that you hadn't returned my calls and do not appear to have returned to the condo. The car service you hired stated that they took you to the airport, and I am assuming that you are there now, or have gone to Louisiana to visit your family." Shit. "I have left a message with your brother Jason asking him to contact me. I need you to contact me so that someone is aware of your location. I had hoped you would have come to your senses by now, but I can see you need more time. I will phone again this evening, at 6 p.m. Seattle time." Shit shit.

"He sounds like.."

"Don't," I cut Eric off, putting up my hand. Whatever he was going to say about Bill, it wasn't anything I wanted to hear right now. I'd heard enough. I turned off the speakerphone and called my brother Jason. There was some loud noise in the background. He must already be at work.

"Jas, it's Sookie. Did Bill call you?"

"Hold on Sook," after a few moments pause, the sound of machinery died away a bit. "Sook? Ya there?"

"Hi Jason. Listen did Bill call you?"

"Yeah, he left a message this morning. You okay? He sounded like you were hurt or something, I was gonna call you on my lunch, I know it's still early out there."

"Jas, I'm in Louisiana. About two hours out of New Orleans."

"Oh yeah? Miss me already, huh?"

"Jason, I left Bill."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." I said. I didn't want to get into it too deep right now, so I just left it at that. He seemed to be mulling something over.

"Am I gonna need my shot gun?" He was serious. About what exactly, I wasn't sure, but big brother had showed up to work today. Thank. Goodness.

"Maybe just to scare him off. Listen Jason, I'll be home in a couple of days, and I could use a place to stay while I sort out Gran's house..." I trailed off. Come on big brother.

"Yeah of course, Sook. Call me when you're coming in. You gonna need a ride up from the city?"

"I think I'm going to rent a car, but I'm staying a night down here. I need to catch up on some sleep before I make another drive. I'll fill you all in later. Listen, if he calls again, just don't answer. He seems to know I'm here, but he doesn't need confirmation."

"Okay," he paused, hesitating to ask for more information. This is as tactful as my brother got, and I was grateful he was giving it his all. I gave in.

"I caught him cheating in my bed." I answered simply, and held the phone away from my ear until the tirade on Bill and his mother were over.

"Alright Sook, you just get here. That Son'bitch won't have any welcome if he tries to track you down."

"Thanks Jason. I'll call you tonight."

"Sure Sook."

"Love you brother."

"Back atcha."

Eric said nothing as I hung up. He'd heard enough of the conversation to have a clear picture that all was well there, and I didn't really want to open up my brother as a subject for discussion. He and Eric were two very different people, and I wasn't about to brook any insults cast his way. Not this morning, and not from Eric Northman.

"Barring another emergency, we should get in with enough time for me to stop at my hotel to shower and change," he said at last.

"That's fine. I can wait with the car if you are concerned about valet taking too long."

"I'm thinking we should check you in as well. You said you were going to stay anyway, and it's a nice place."

"Eric, I don't think so," I started to say. First of all, whatever boutique garden hotel he would book was probably well beyond my budget, which, after factoring in my plane ticket, was negative twenty-five hundred dollars. Second, we were just about even Steven in my book, and there was no need to push it farther in either direction. He'd been a surprising comfort when I needed it badly, and I'd helped him get to his meeting with a few hours of sleep under his belt. Third, just no.

"Hear me out," he continues. "This is a perfectly justifiable business expense, lodging for an assistant on a business trip. You have certainly served that purpose today. Since it is a business purpose, you are assured occupancy owing to the arrangement my company has with the hotel. They keep rooms for our use, in lieu of our maintaining a corporate apartment here. Next, you are in need of some essentials, clothing and sundry items for the day, and this place is convenient to shopping. The concierge service at the hotel will be able to accommodate the return of this rental while you sleep. They can even reserve a car for you to drive back north tomorrow. They can probably even do the shopping if you provide a list. As I seem to have stumbled onto your care, I will be certain that you have safe lodgings and thus will not be distracted throughout my business day for fear of what may befall you at a seedy airport motel. Finally, Pam will be joining me tomorrow, and I am sure she would like to see you. My understanding is that you two are friendly."

He finished his long speech with a smile. I sighed, and then I nodded. I suppose this was Eric in businessman mode, with possibly a little drunk on honey mixed in. Charming, persuasive, hard to resist.

"Eric, I don't understand you," I said, shaking my head. "I'll be happy to stay, but sometime, you need to explain..." I made a sweeping gesture, toward all of him, "Yourself. To me."

"Explain myself?"

"Eric the only time you haven't been a royal terror since I woke up on the plane was when you were asleep and even then, you snore. Loudly. And suddenly now you're super sweet, logical argument guy again."

"Ah," he offered. In explanation.

"It's just hard to keep up."

"Yes, we should have a chat about this," he said. Somehow I sensed he was mentally pencilling me in for later in the day, or the week. He continued on just as carefully. "I apologize for behaving like a 'royal terror' and I hope you will not hold it against me. It has been an unusually stressful day, and you have not only borne my poor humor, you have found solutions. I am grateful. Bill Compton is a fucking idiot."

And at that, I could only laugh. "It's sort of amusing to see you in and out of businessman mode."

"Businessman mode?"

"Yes," I answer. "Surely you're aware that you're doing it? Everything out of your mouth is so," I paused, "carefully crafted. Deliberate. Thought out. As opposed to what I presume is regular you, who doesn't bother to hide the fact that he hasn't had enough sleep, and who hugs strange women just because it's obvious they need one," I finished with a smile.

"Well, how I deal with people certainly effects my success with my work. Maybe it accounts for more than half of my work in general, really. I hope you do not mind if I use you to keep my skills honed." He is effecting a playful tone. It's hard not to roll my eyes again, but I manage to just keep smiling.

"Oh, they're razor sharp, I assure you."

"Did I mention there's a spa?"

"Oh?"

"Yes, you could go this afternoon if you are not too tired. Or perhaps you and Pam could go tomorrow, so that she can decompress from the stress of first class travel."

"Sure," I murmur. Sleep has decided it won't be held back any longer, and my lids grow heavy.

"Sookie. Sookie wake up."

Something was touching my face, patting my cheek and smoothing my hair. "Baby?" I murmured. "What time is it?"

"Just after twelve, listen we're still in a hurry, wake up."

"Eric?" I jumped in my seat, hit against the seatbelt, and fell back, wide awake.

"Good afternoon, sleeping beauty," he said with a chuckle, reaching across to unfasten my seatbelt. "We're here, and I'm still in a rush so get up."

"Sure Eric," I mumble, turning over and practically falling out of the SUV, pulling at my sweater and smoothing out my hair before pausing to stretch. Ahh. So much better. Eric grabbed my hand, plainly tired of waiting for me, and led me through the lobby. We met a pleasant looking pair at the front desk. Rick and Trudy introduced themselves to me cheerfully and both seemed to already know Eric.

"Listen, Rick, we actually got grounded last night in Dallas and we weren't sure if they'd have us on another flight before my one o'clock. I'm desperate for a shower before I've got to fly across town could you," Eric started, but Rick interrupted him with a room key card.

"Go on up Mister Northman, 602, as usual, we'll get Miss...?"

"Stackhouse," said Eric, in a hasty introduction, already half turned to go. "Sookie, I'll see you after my meetings. Rick, she's on my corporate account for anything she needs." With that, he was practically sprinting to the elevators while Trudy was typing furiously.

"It's so good of you to accommodate us," I turned back, smiling. "He's been anxious he'd be late since we got the news they'd closed the airport down here."

"Mister Northman is a very good client, we are happy to meet his needs," assured Rick.

"Oh! I don't suppose we could phone in a taxi, or a town car? I don't think he'll want to drive, but I doubt he'll be more than ten minutes," I began to fret.

"The hotel keeps several drivers Miss Stackhouse, I'll have one out front, and call up to the room so he knows. Is Ms. Ravenscroft still checking in tomorrow morning?"

"Oh yes, I believe she is," I answered.

"Then we'll keep her in 604 as usual. I'll put you just downstairs in 503, if that's acceptable?"

"Oh anything really. I know I did not have a reservation. I got an hour on the plane and one in the car, but I've been up since practically yesterday. Any bed will do," I offered an apologetic smile.

"You poor thing, you must be dead on your feet," soothed Trudy. "Luggage?"

"Just my carryon," I said, holding up my overstuffed purse.

"Oh my goodness, did your bags not make it to Dallas?"

"We were in such a hurry," I said, hoping this would be explanation enough. Hurry to catch the flight? Hurry to catch the car? Leave them to figure it out.

"Will you be needing our personal shopper while you are here?" she asked, quite kindly.

"Eric mentioned there is shopping nearby, I think I will head out after I have a bit of rest," I assured her.

"Oh, is it your first time visiting New Orleans? Will you need reservations for dinner? The Spa?"

"Trudy," I said, flushing slightly pink, "what I could use more than anything right now is a nap."

"I'm so sorry Miss Stackhouse, of course. Let me walk you upstairs, we're all set here."

Trudy came around the front of the desk and escorted me to the elevators, pressing the button up to five.

"Have you been with Area Five long?" she asked, conversationally.

"Oh, I don't work for Eric," I responded quickly. Maybe that wasn't the right thing to say. The rooms were being paid for with corporate money weren't they? "We've been acquainted for nearly three years, through one of their previous acquisitions." That was true, and it sounded good. Good and business-y and vague. Trudy nodded in understanding. Her small talk was excellent.

"Will I find a spa menu in the room? I believe Eric intends to treat Pam tomorrow, and I would like to join her."

"Please call me for that. I'll be at the desk until seven. Ms. Ravenscroft is very particular, and I would be happy to coordinate something she will find pleasing." She was leading me down the short hall now, fitting the keycard into the little slot to coax the door open.

The room was, well, a suite. The entry kept a coat closet and a small powder room and opened to a large sitting area with a soft leather couch and two wingback chairs set on either side of a large coffee table. A large flat screen television sat on a long console table across from the setup. A small wooden bistro table and two chairs were just to my left, and at the far end of the room, glass doors opened onto a balcony. Pocket doors in the left wall opened to the bedroom where a massive king sized bed was luxuriously dressed in cream and aqua linens. The master bath was marble, with a separate shower for two, and the whirlpool bath was enormous.

"Oh, this is heaven," I murmured, letting my purse fall to the bed, before I remembered myself, and fished for my wallet.

"Oh no, Miss," Trudy explained as I tried to tip her. "I thank you for your generosity but a gratuity is included in our service agreement with Area Five. This includes all of the services of the hotel for your stay." I nodded hesitantly. I'd have to ask Eric later. "I'll leave you to rest then. Would you like to arrange a wakeup call?" I thought about it for a moment and asked her to ring up at five. Trudy let me know that I'd find a binder full of hotel services in the console table, and left my key card on the table in the front room.

It took all of thirty seconds for me to strip down to my bra and panties and crawl into bed. I was asleep again before I could do more than smirk at the thought of my five-star flight to freedom.


	2. A Honeyed Tongue

A/N Hi! Thank you for your kind reviews and alerts, it's really encouraging!

* * *

><p>I managed to sleep about three hours before I woke with a start. It was incredibly unfair that I found myself honestly exhausted, laying in the most comfortable bed I'd been in, possibly ever, and I couldn't manage a decent day's rest. I thought I'd been having a sexy dream about Bill, one of those ones where you're watching yourself while feeling everything. Only my hair was the wrong shade of blonde, and when I reached for him he shoved me aside, and I saw it was Lorena, wrapped up with him in the sheets I'd just bought for us, falling back on the pillowcases that my grandmother had embroidered and laughing as Bill dove between her splayed thighs. I remember when Gran made those pillowcases. I'd taken them from my hope chest when we moved.<p>

I was entirely wound around the sheets in my own, well, in my hotel bed, when I came to. My face was wet. I felt trapped and kicked myself free before stumbling into the bathroom. May I just say? Thank goodness for hotel toiletries. With an on site spa, the selection was especially nice, and I pulled out my pony tail and turned on every single faucet in the shower. It was amazing. There were jets on three sides, and those overhead rainfall shower heads, and the ones with a hose attached that you can remove shooting down at angles. There was a little bench in there. It was like my very own jasmine-scented water park. Okay, this totally made up for the lousy nap. I stayed in until I started to prune. I would be taking another shower before bed tonight. And another one in the morning.

It occurred to me that I hadn't contacted the concierge about returning the rental car, but I also hadn't been down to check to make sure it was all tidied up and that we didn't leave anything in it. I abandoned a fluffy, over-sized towel for a plush, over-sized robe. I made my way back to the bedroom and I found my phone and dialed Lafayette.

"Girl, why your boyfriend callin' me at all hours looking for you?" he answered.

"First of all, no longer my boyfriend. Second, if he calls again, don't answer," I responded.

"Sook?" he asks, dropping right out of sassy mode.

"Long or short?" I ask, as I started to remake the bed.

"Both, start with the headline but read me all the fine print."

"Came home from tutoring last night to find Bill with that Lorena cow from his work in our bed." He actually gasped. "Yes naked, yes right in the act," I continued.

"That piece of shit," he answered.

"Yup," I confirmed. "He jumps up immediately, and oh my god Laf, it was exactly like you read about and see in movies. It's like he was running lines from the cheating asshole script. Sookie, it's not what you think, Sookie let me explain. There's another woman cumming on my sheets Bill! Even Bill O'Reilly could explain that!" I can almost hear Laf nodding as he mutters his agreement. "But of course you know, I had nothing to say at the time. I was just in shock, completely speechless. So I just went in the room and started pulling at the laundry pile, and got some clothes, and left my books. And she's just laying there, naked as a jay bird," I start waving my hands at the empty hotel bed as I continue carrying on to my best friend like he's in the room.

"And once I have some clothes in my purse I'm just standing there like a moron, while she's laying in my bed, and she smiles at me and asks me what I'm doing there. And then she turns to Bill and tells him to Put. The dog. Out."

"Oh no she fucking didn't," he says, and not in his 'oh-my-god' voice, in his 'I'm six-foot-two-inch-two-hundred-fifty-pound black man' voice.

"Yes she fucking did!" I shriek back. I don't know if I have neighbors in this room or not. It's still just afternoon, so if I do, hopefully they're not in. If they're in, hopefully they didn't hear that. I feel bad for shouting curses and try to rein myself in quickly.

"Well I just didn't know what to say to that, so I just left. I went out to the kitchen and called for the car service and had a glass of water, and he finally comes out with his sleep pants on, and tries to explain some more, except he's not explaining anything, he just keeps telling me this is a misunderstanding, and I don't know what I walked in on. I couldn't say one word to him. I don't even know half of what he was saying, I was just waiting for the car." Lafayette takes my pause to agree that nothing that fink bastard has to say at that point was worth listening to anyway, while inadvertently agreeing with Jason about Bill's Oedipal complex with the crudest terminology.

"So after about six hours of me staring at my phone the driver calls up, and I go down, and he follows me out, and then he starts in about how I'm being unreasonable and ridiculous, and how we need to talk about this like adults. He followed me onto the street still in his stupid sleep pants and nothing else, shouting at me like I'm some child. Well then I just told him to never call me again and shut up and I got in the car and locked it and left."

"Aw, Sook. Why didn't you come right here?"

"I went to the airport, Laf."

"Are you home? I mean home, home."

"Not quite. I'm in New Orleans. I guess I'm sort of staying with a friend tonight."

"That's good, you need a little sisterhood today. Kappas going to fix you right up."

"No it's...not a sorority friend. Not even a girlfriend. My night just got weirder and weirder. I'm on about 5 hours of sleep, broken up in bits." I start to explain about running into Eric Northman of all people, and getting rerouted to Dallas, and driving through the night, and ending up in this luxury hotel with the world's softest bed and the shower that makes me want to get to church this Sunday so I can thank God for plumbers.

"I'll be at Jason's in a day or two until I can get the house open again," I finally finish. I upend my purse on the bed, abandoning the pretence that I can find any darn thing I am looking for in there otherwise. I start separating out the clothes from the books and the pens and this morning's granola bar, and all the various other junk that makes its way into my bag. Oh hey. I have gum.

"This is Bill's hot asshole boss, right?"

"Right."

"The one who hits on you?"

"That's the one," I chirp, thinking of Pam. I wonder what she'll have to say about all this. I'm going to be pretty sick and tired of reiterating the whole story soon, I think. "Oh damn," I interrupt myself. "Laf, do you know anyone that's good with Algebra? I just started with the Bermans but I'm not going to be able to commit, obviously. I want to leave them with a recommendation." I've known Lafayette since university, and he's now doing his post grad work in Seattle. I'd been so happy to reconnect with him out there. He's the one who got me into tutoring to hold me over until I could find a regular teaching job. I'm feeling absolutely horrible right now for bailing on him.

"Sook, don't even worry about that, you take care of you."

"Lafayette, I'm so sorry to leave you in a lurch," I continue, but he cuts me off.

"I'm serious. I've got an endless stream of undergrad ass kissers to send their way. One will stick. I'll call when we get off and tell them you've had a family crisis and had to return to Louisiana."

"You're an amazing man, Lafayette Reynolds."

"Yup, and you just keep telling every boy you meet that. One of them will make his way back to me." I smile. He is indeed an amazing man.

"So I've got to go shopping now," I say, ready to wind down the conversation.

"Sookie, you should break up more often. I never hear you treating yourself so good."

"No, it's not that. I didn't pack any underwear." He laughs. I laugh. We say our love you's and goodbyes.

I take a notebook and a pen from now tidy array of my belongings from my bed and start making my shopping list. Bras, underwear. Outfits. Shoes. Suitcase? Coffee. Deodorant. I do not put shampoo or conditioner or soaps on the list. I plan on availing myself of the hotel's stock while I'm here. That's what they're there for. I need to have the clothes I wore here laundered. There's a bag for that in the front closet. Good. I need to call about the spa for Pam, but I don't know when she's in, or what they have planned. It's not quite five yet, I have a couple of hours. I can check with Eric. I'd really prefer he do it. Oh yes, check the SUV.

The outfit I didn't wear on the plane and the impromptu eight hour road trip is a grey pencil skirt and a black knit twin set. Probably too warm for down here during the day, but it's what I've got, so I slip it on, along with my withered delicates. I console myself with the fact that I have an extra good reason to revisit the wonderful shower later. I fix my hair a little, and just as I finish, the room phone rings. Trudy's calling to wake me, and let me know that Mister Northman left a message that he'll be back at the hotel by eight. I bite my lip and go ahead and ask her to book Pam for a half-day of her favourite spa treatments beginning at noon, and then the standard half-day for myself as well at the same time, but minus the facial, because those take a day or two to recover from if they're done right, and I'm doing just fine keeping my face flushed and puffy on my own, thank you.

At this point I've resigned myself to spending from my savings. You're supposed to save money for a rainy day, and as Dallas International can attest, it seems to be pouring wherever I'm headed this week. So I'm spoiling myself, just a little. I've got no idea when I'm going to be able to get my things back from Bill. I guess I will have to talk to him eventually, but definitely not today. I repack my purse, leaving out most of its previous contents, and head downstairs.

I hadn't really taken in the lobby earlier that afternoon, but it's really stunning. The floors are marble and there's a gorgeous crystal chandelier hanging from the high vaulted ceiling. The space is very open and airy, with full windows all around. Big lush ferns are potted in various corners, concealing outlets and switches, I assume, but the effect is lovely. The sun is fading fast, but there's still a lot of light coming in. I spy Rick and Trudy at the desk and head over to ask about the car. Rick's on the line with the valet to have it brought up for me to inspect before he'll send someone out to return it. They're amazing and I tell them so.

He assures me that they can have a rental here within an hour whenever I have need tomorrow, so I don't need to worry about that today. She tries to ploy me once again with assistance with the shopping but doesn't seem to take offence when I refuse. It's nice being catered to this way, if a little overbearing. I phoned Pam as I headed out.

Our Barbie joke persisted through several other of our meetings pertaining to Bill's work. She was blonde too and taller than me, though not as buxom. I didn't want her missing the fun, so she'd been Bored Barbie, Bisexual Barbie, and once, memorably, Bare-assed Barbie. Anything for fashion, that Pam. We'd had lunch several times, both before and after the move, and chatted occasionally. I wouldn't say we were bosom friends, but we were friends. We had a niche, and it was really nice to have someone I could always gravitate towards whenever I was playing my traditional Arm Candy Barbie role.

"This is Pam," she answered.

"Hey Pam," I replied.

"Soo-kie, Soo-kie, Soo-kie," she started. "Eric tells me you're with him in New Orleans."

"Guilty as charged, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am!"

I giggled. Pam already had plans to defy aging gracefully, and hadn't even hit thirty yet. I gave her a very brief version of how her boss and I had ended up travelling companions, omitting Bill entirely. She noticed the omission.

"And where's Bill? Still up here?"

"I assume so," I said, and that was really saying plenty in itself.

"REAL-ly," she replied.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow, Pam. When do you get in?"

"Nine. I'll be at the hotel by ten. You'll still be there?"

"It's looking like that. I think I'm on vacation, at this point."

"Well, then I'll see you in the morning, Sookie."

"Sure will. Safe flight." I hung up. I'm not really a shopper, the way some girls are. For me, it's a chore. I found a drug store first, and then blessedly, a department store. I did my very best to be quick and practical. I got a pair of tennis shoes, and another pair of silver flats. I found two skirts, three blouses, a cardigan, two sundresses, a pair of trousers, a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt, and a plethora of matched lacy underthings. Whenever I buy bras, I buy several. I wasn't being vain when I said I'm buxom. They don't always have my size, so when they do, I tend to buy. I found a cute little sleep set and some socks, a short silk chemise, and a little black dress, and some sunglasses. Finally, I found a little suitcase on wheels to pack it all into. It was quick and practically painless, and I found myself back at the hotel by seven with an hour to kill.

I changed into one of the sun dresses and set out the laundry by the door so I'd remember to stick it out overnight. I probably could have waited until I got to Jason's, and done mine with the piles of his that were sure to be waiting there for me, but I figured the fewer dirty things I packed with my nice new stuff, the better. I started list-making again, about the house. Water was from the well, and that stayed intact, but I should probably have it serviced just in case. Electric, Cable. Phone. Did I still need a land line? No, but I did need a new cell phone. I literally facepalmed. Bill and I were on a family plan. I needed a new cell phone tomorrow. I underlined it three times. Internet. Maybe I'll finally get a smart phone. Then I won't need the internet separately I think, because it'll be on my phone. And I can tether it... or something like that. I'd have to ask at the store. They were going to love me. I know how to use it. I'm good at using technology, but I don't know how it works, and as long as it works, I don't really care. I guess I'd have to learn a bit now though. Bill did all that stuff. I went ahead and called about the electric and the well before there was a knock on the door.

Eric looked downright dapper in a navy blue suit with a light blue shirt and a red tie and matching pocket square, but his eyes showed exhaustion. He threw himself on the comfy leather couch, pulled his hair out of its leather tie and tilted his head back.

"Tough day at the office?" I asked, retreating back to my place at the table, switching on another lamp as I came.

"You've no fucking idea," he groaned, slipping off his tie. He paused, looking around at the room. "This is nice. Cosy."

I laughed, since the word I would have chosen was more along the lines of palatial, at least as hotel rooms go.

"Were you on time then?" I ask.

"Yes, thank you for getting the car. It had slipped my mind."

"I sorted all the cars. The rental has been returned as well, and they tell me I can order one up whenever I'm ready to go. Rick is amazing. Trudy, too."

"It's what we pay them for."

"True, but they're incredibly nice about it. I talked to Pam a bit. You'd mentioned the spa. She's in at nine and here by ten. Trudy hinted that she's picky, and wanted to take over scheduling, so I let her. The appointment is for noon."

"That's fine. For you as well?"

"Well, yes, but I needed to ask you, what time is checkout, and what is your schedule like tomorrow?"

"I'm tied up in the afternoon again, so it works out well."

"Well then maybe we could have breakfast, or brunch when Pam gets in, and then I can leave after the spa."

His head shot up and suddenly I had his full attention. "You're leaving?"

I chuckled, "Well yes Eric, that's the plan. I think you were even with me when I planned it."

"I thought you'd stay through the week with us."

"And - what?"

"Most of our team has moved to Seattle now. It's actually why Sophie Ann's so interested in keeping ties down here. We have no one in the area. You'll be good company."

"So today I was your assistant, and what am I for the rest of the week, an entertainment expense?"

"Well I'm sure you can assist Pam or I with ..."

"Eric!"

"Sookie?"

"Eric, I planned to stay one night here. And lovely as it is, and believe me, I think the fringe benefits of corporate drudgery are finally dawning on me after seeing that bathroom, I'm not living out the week in here so you can have amusing dinner conversation."

"You told Pam you were on vacation."

"Well yes," I started.

"And you told your brother you would call him tonight to finalize your plans."

"Yes, you were sitting right there," I confirm, walking right into it.

"So you can tell him that you'll be up next week, and this is even better really, because if Bill goes looking for you there, you won't be found, which you seemed to want."

"Yes, but," I started again.

"And I'm sure you have friends in New Orleans you would like to catch up with, besides us."

"Well, always, but..."

"But?"

"But you can't just make decisions like that for me. I mean you didn't even ask."

"Sookie, would you like to stay on vacation here for a week, and continue enjoying the heavenly bathroom?"

I glared.

"That's adorable," he remarked, almost impassively. "It's like you're angry about not being able to be angry with me."

"Eric," I sighed.

"Yes?"

"I'll stay then."

"Excellent. Dinner?"

"Aren't you tired?"

"Yes, but bedtime is midnight. If I sleep too soon, I'll be up too early, and then I'll be tired in the afternoon. Did you get your shopping done?"

"I did actually. I spoiled myself a bit."

"Just one suitcase? I'll schedule Pam some time to teach you about spoiling yourself." He gets to his feet, pulling himself to his impressive height. "Come on then, I know a good place. You won't have to change." This is a brand new dress. Thanks for keeping me humble, big guy.

It's a warm night, for March, so I just grabbed a sweater before we headed out. I called Jason, alerting him of the revised plan, and told him to call me immediately if Bill contacted him again, or God forbid, showed up in Bon Temps. Since Bill had said he'd call at six Seattle time, and since I had no intention of answering that call, I went ahead and left my giant purse behind, taking only the little wristlet that snapped inside of it along with me. I quizzed Eric about cell phones and internet service as we walked. He told me what kind of setup I'd need and agreed it was probably my best option so far out in the sticks. He had the same reaction to sharing a cell phone plan with Bill that I'd had myself, and offered to take me shopping before Pam arrived in the morning.

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd really appreciate it actually," I said.

"It's no problem, though all the geeks will be very put out they lose the chance to school you." I snorted at that, but he continued, "No really, it's what they live for."

"Speaking from experience there, Northman?"

"I worked in the computer lab all through school. Having clueless coeds as my captive audience late at nights was the only benefit."

"I'm not sure if I'm more surprised to hear you worked in school, that you were a tech geek, or that you're actually telling me about yourself."

"I _am_ a tech geek, Sookie. Perhaps more socially functional than most, or at least better at pretending to be. I hear when my guard is down, I am both a grump and a grouch." So, definitely faking sleep at least part of the time. The snores. The snores will be the gauge. Wait, why am I planning on being around him while he's sleeping ever again? "And of course I worked in school," he finished.

"But aren't you? I mean, you didn't have to, did you?"

"No, I didn't have to, but it's good to work. Do you not agree?"

"I do. My gran was very fond of that adage about idle hands being the devil's playground. Not the actual devil though. She meant it as far as your own demons. It's important to have things that focus you, both work and pastimes."

"Yes, I have a grandmother with many similar sayings."

"Do you have a big family?"

"Not so much. My parents are divorced, and I don't see much of either of them. My mother's mother is the one with all the wisdom. My father's parents are both here in the city. No cousins, no siblings. It's just you and Jason, yes?"

"Yes."

"So why did he say 'family'?"

"Hm?"

"In his voicemail Bill said he was assuming you'd gone to visit your family. It's an odd way to word it if he knows it's just Jason."

"Oh, he and Jason don't get on. Jason is, well, he's a redneck. If he'd gone to school it would have been for the football, but he wasn't quite good enough for that, so he didn't. But he's happy as he is. He's blue collar through and through, and Bill... well, you know Bill."

"Social climbing, ass kissing, economic snob."

"Right. You do know Bill," I smiled weakly. It was true. They were negative qualities that I knew he had all along, but just like I forgive Jason for loving Nascar, I forgive Bill for loving wine and cheese. And he really did. The man could pick a merlot. "Anyway, I suppose it's just the way he compartmentalized what he considered a blemish."

"I hope you're realizing as you're saying that how fucked up it is."

"Yup," I said, popping the P.

The place we stopped at was a little bistro and he confessed that the initial draw had been the really large chairs. He'd actually said 'properly sized chairs', but honestly, they were built for giants. Only my toe tips brushed the ground when I sat back. The food was amazing. You might not think that two blonde haired blue eyed people would be into soul food, but I'm from here, and I love it, and Eric plainly enjoyed his meal as well.

"It's nice that you eat," he said, as wandered away down the street.

"Yeah, I've gotten that before. Most girls only pick at salad, right?"

"Right."

"It's all lies, you know. They run home and eat a whole pint of ice cream at bed time cause they're starving."

"You're saying you skip the ice cream then?"

"No way," I grinned.

"Good. This way, Miss Stackhouse, if you please." He gave an exaggerated bow and offered his arm, and I took it with a laugh.

The ice cream shop he had in mind was a bit of a hike from the restaurant, but I knew it well and it was worth the walk. I had one scoop of almond rose and one of honeyed pear on a cone. He had some sort of enormous sundae, and he let me pay. I was almost shocked. We sat down at one of the tables outside, so we wouldn't make a mess while walking. Also, we were both really tired.

"You realize that's not fair," he said as he watched me.

"If you wanted one, you could have gotten one," I answered breezily.

"Not what I meant," he said, helping himself to another spoonful of chocolate and brownie.

"Oh real men can't lick on ice cream cones, huh?"

"Also not what I meant."

"Hm."

"Keep guessing, you'll stumble onto it eventually and then I can stop pretending I'm not getting hard watching you."

"Ah, Mister Northman. I almost missed you."

I turned away from him then, so as not to further agitate him, and to hide my own embarrassment. It was familiar, in an uncomfortable sort of way. Definitely not the first time he'd made a similar remark. In fact he'd done it more or less every time we'd met, to one degree or another. I swear it was like he didn't have an appetite for picnic food until he'd turned me as red as one of the plastic drink cups. I'd been with Bill every time of course, and that had made it simultaneously harmless and horrible. Harmless, because I had been with Bill and he knew it, and I knew it, and I'd never once reciprocated with anything like in kind. Horrible, because I had been with Bill and he knew it, and it was just plain disrespectful to us both. At least now I only cared about my part in it, though.

"Eric?" I asked, still not turning around.

"Sookie?" he replied.

"Did you know?" And nothing. There were people all around, and we were on the street, so it wasn't quiet, but the silence from him was all I could focus on. I pulled my arms around myself with my wrist tilted awkwardly so my cone was jutting out away from my new sweater. "About Bill and Lorena I mean," I finished finally. Maybe he just wasn't answering because he didn't understand my question.

"No," he said from over my shoulder. He took the cone from my hand and replaced it with another of his handkerchiefs, red this time, which I gratefully pressed to my eyes.

"I suspected I guess," he paused, "but I didn't know for sure."

He came around me and lifted his hand to my arm to get me moving alongside him down the street. We ambled along for a while, I with my chin nearly to my chest, my hair falling in a curtain around my face, and him slurping occasionally at my ice cream cone. I suspected maybe he was exaggerating the noise. To help hide my sniffling maybe? Or to make me laugh? Maybe just to prove he was man enough to lick on an ice cream cone in public.

"Is that why you always talk to me like that?" I asked quietly. "Because you knew something wasn't right?"

"Maybe," he answered after a moment. "Maybe it's just because you're hot in general and pretty when you blush, Sookie."

He didn't say anything else until my sobbing had abated. After it had, he put an arm out in front of me to halt me and stepped in front of me. I lifted my head only fractionally, and looked up at him only so much that I could barely see his face. He offered me the cone back, lowering it in front of me.

"No, finish it," I said, shaking my head, my hair swaying with the gesture. "You sounded like you were enjoying it." He said nothing, and continued holding the cone out, so I pushed at his hand a bit, to little effect. "Let's get back. I want to try out my enormous bathtub before bed," I said, moving to step around him, but he caught my arm and held me in place. Wow. He is really strong. Finally I look up at him, getting exasperated. "Eric, what?"

He glanced down at the cone again, then raised an eyebrow at me. Rolling my eyes I pushed his hand away again, and he pushed back, only like I said, he's really strong, and his little push was stronger than my little push. And that's how I ended up with honeyed pear ice cream up my nose and all over my cheeks. I leapt back with a shriek, worried for my dress and he let the cone fall to the ground with a tiny splatter that made me jump again. For a shocked moment we stood there before he burst out laughing and I raised his tear-stained handkerchief to wipe my nose while I stared at him in disbelief. Then, he ran for it. I gave half a thought to my shoes before giving myself and internal shrug, and then bounded after him.

Three blocks later he let me catch up, breathless, laughing. I swatted at him with my wristlet, which he easily deflected.

"I only wanted to watch you with it some more," he laughed, "but that was so, so much better." He leaned over me. "You missed a spot. Well. Spots," he grinned, and I gave him a hard shove and he staggered back melodramatically.

"Ass," I grinned at him, wiping at my face again.

"I hear it's one of my best features," he smirked. Oh God how did he know that? Bright. Red. Stop it stop it stop it. He's aware independently! He probably does special exercises just to keep it like that. Stop blushing! I stormed away from him, feigning indignation over the ice cream assault. Yes. Righteous indignation. Definitely not mortification.

"I see you agree!" he gloated after me.

As we reached the corner of a busier street he caught my arm and held me back. "Let's get a taxi," he said. We had one hailed within a few minutes, and then we were speeding back to the hotel. The ride was quiet, but comfortable. I was glad it was short, as I was indeed in danger of falling asleep on him again. We walked through the lobby to the elevator and Eric greeted Stuart, the night manager. He wished us each a good night. He called me by name, though we hadn't been introduced. Well, he called me Miss Stackhouse, at least. I don't think there's a single person in this place that doesn't take pride in their job. I'm looking forward to the spa day even more now.

"So nine or so, for the cell phone shopping? That should leave us enough time to get back before Pam comes in," he says.

"That's fine, I'm usually up early," I say.

"Well we've established that I'm not a morning person, so come up at nine. It'll give me a few extra minutes. 602 is me."

"Sure," I say. The doors slide open and he's following me to my room.

"I forgot something earlier," he apologizes. I glance back at him. Ah, his tie. After successfully navigating the door lock with the swipe card, he follows me inside. I hate these, incidentally. What the heck was ever wrong with plain old keys?

Waltzing into the sitting room he bends to grab his crimson tie off the table where he left it. "Bring me your phone for a second?" he asks. I go and grab it from the charger in the bedroom and hand it over. He probably needs to check the SIM card or something.

After fiddling with it for the moment, he says, "You've got three texts, three missed calls, and a voicemail. Do you want to check them now?" I nod, telling him the password. It doesn't matter. I'm changing it tomorrow anyway. That was pretty slick of him, I realize.

"The calls are all from Compton," after a pause. "The texts, Call Jason in the morning. Compton texting to let you know he wants to talk to you, thanks Bill, she never would have guessed by the three calls in two hours, and Bill again, asking you to check your voicemail." I gestured him to go ahead and call it, and he does, switching on the speaker.

"Today at. Eight. Twelve. ... Sookie I'm growing a little weary of the silent treatment. I'm more than concerned. Your credit card appears to have been tampered with. I have been unable to contact your family today. If you are in Louisiana I would appreciate being informed of the length of your stay and when I can expect you home. You've received some mail today from one of the schools you mentioned applying at for work. If you like, I will open it. You have responsibilities here that are clearly going unattended. I will expect your call tomorrow. Good night."

He pushed another button. "De-lee-ted," said the robot woman, and Eric switched the phone off.

"Your credit card?" he asks.

"I called the company this morning, had them disable anything he could try to access remotely as far as recent transactions go."

"Smart." He nodded his approval. Then, "You alright?" he asked, and I nodded. "I meant what I said earlier today, just so you know." He waited for me to look at him in question. "Bill Compton _is_ a fucking idiot."

"Amongst other things," I sighed.

"That's the spirit," he agreed, patting my shoulder. "So, good first date, yes? Not a bad night?"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh sure. Only one breakdown in tears over another man, and barely half a dessert all over my face," I say matter-of-factly. "A charming evening all around." It was his turn to roll his eyes. "I had fun Eric, thank you," I said more seriously. "You cheered me up quite a bit."

"I'm glad you agree."

"Nope, not a bad night."

"No, that it was a date," he smirks. He bent down and kissed my cheek, and before I could say a word or move a muscle he used his nimble giant powers to spring across the room and scoot out the door. "Nine A.M.!" I heard him call from the hall as the door closed behind him. Eric Northman, ladies and gentlemen. He knows how to make an exit.

I went to run the bath before bothering with anything else. It would take at least ten minutes to fill. I stripped off and cuddled back in the snugly robe, and went to set the laundry out. I didn't bother with the dress I'd worn tonight, but the under things went in the sack. I filled out the little inventory card and cracked the door open to slip the bag on the outside handle before flipping the top lock. Padding back to the bedroom, I cleared all the purse debris from the bed onto the dresser and grabbed my book heading back to the bath. Half way full. I found a little bottle of body wash and emptied its contents into the tap. It works just as well as actual bubble bath. I briefly considered raiding the minibar for one of those little bottles of wine, but decided against it. I didn't want to pass out in the tub. So I dropped the robe and sunk into luxury, eager to see if the Duchess and her groom would finally yield to their temptations this day. I can't help it if I'm a romantic.

I must have dozed in there at some point anyway, as I stirred with a shiver to find that all my bubbles had vanished and the water had gone lukewarm. I dried quickly and crawled into bed still mostly damp and dreamt I was Buttercup ordering about a taller version of Wesley, only he made fun of me for not being able to reach the pitcher instead of simply fetching it. I stirred again, feeling myself smiling as I snuggled down. Overall, a good night.

The discrete digital clock on the dresser glowed a ghostly blue 7:15 when I woke up for real. For the first time in about 36 hours, I actually felt awake, so hopped out of bed, pulled on my yoga pants, tee, brand new socks (I love new socks.) and tennis shoes, and went downstairs to see about the gym. And hopefully coffee, on the return trip. I met Marcia and Paul at the desk, and they gave me directions. Without Eric, I'd actually gotten the chance to introduce myself to the morning staff. I confirmed with them that we expected Pam by ten. I followed the way Marcia pointed across the lobby and down the hall until I found the workout room. It was pretty standard fare and I had a good stretch before hopping up on the elliptical machine and bumping the resistance way up so I could get ta' sweatin'.

Half an hour later I was drenched and my ears were buzzing with the flood of endorphins. I was bent over the water cooler sucking down my third little cone cup of sweet hydration when Paul came in to offer me a towel. I beamed at him and wiped my face down, totally stoked that it was shower time. I paced around the mats for another few minutes to cool down and then I followed the smell of fresh coffee to a giant Keurig machine and a platter of fresh fruits. I threw the towel over my shoulder and grabbed a handful of grapes in one hand and steaming cup of French roast in the other. Good morning, Sookie.

Stripping off the sweaty workout wear, I realize immediately that I'll probably need another set at some point soon. Maybe Pam will want to shop some time this week. The shower is glorious yet again, and I take a little extra time to dry and style my hair till it's as bouncy as I feel. I pull on a light blue skirt and a yellow blouse and the new silver flats. At ten to nine I pop back downstairs, grab another coffee for me, and one for Eric, and get a little wink and a wave from Marcia before I'm off to wake the beast.

After opening the door, he steps back to shut down the little workstation he's made for himself out of the dining table. Yup, that's a full length, seating for eight, dining table in a hotel room. I can see why he called mine "cosy." The décor up here is pretty much the same as mine, though the common space all seems to be twice as large. Is that a fireplace? There are two extra sets of pocket doors. So a multi-bedroom suite, I guess? This isn't even the top floor. Maybe this is one of those places that only offers suites. I follow him back to the table with a cheerful, "Good morning," and set his coffee down. He still hasn't said anything, but he hasn't made any ogre noises either, and he's plainly been awake for at least a little while. All in all, this is an improvement. His hair is still wet, and it's sticking to the back of his shirt in clumps, dampening it. I bite back the impulse to go sort him out. "Been up long?" I ask as I make my way back to hover by the foyer.

"A bit, yeah. Thanks. 'Morning," he mumbles, taking the coffee and tasting it tentatively. He takes a longer sip and then turns to look at me again, offering a louder, "Thanks," as he lifts the paper cup like he's toasting me. "Be a minute or two, sit if you like," he waves a careless arm at the room in general as he retreats into the bedroom. Even if this isn't his home, I feel a bit strange about wandering around his space in his absence, so I stay just where I am. He's only a couple of minutes before he re-emerges with his hair pulled back and with a fresh shirt. He arms himself with sunglasses and finishes his coffee in one long draught, leaving the cup on the table. "Ready to go?" he asks, sounding human.

"Yessir," I answer, and proceed him out the door and down to the elevator.

"What about you, good sleep?"

"Yes," I gush, smiling. I can't really elaborate.

"So do you know what kind of phone you want?" he asks, and when I'm unsure he begins a litany on the pros and cons of a dozen different models, pausing to ask me questions about the features I think I'd use. The conversation carries us happily along the five minute walk to the shop. He holds the door open for me, and I go in and approach the kiosk where the phones are all out on display. He'd told me to play with them to find one I like the feel of. I'm still toting around an old flip phone, so the touch screens and the built in keyboards are all a novelty to me. He's already up at the counter asking to see the coverage map for the state when one of the clerks approaches me.

"Can I help you find anything?" he asks, leaning against the counter beside me.

"Oh, I'm just trying to find the right fit really, I've never had one of these," I tries to hold up the phone I'm playing with, but it's tied down, so the gesture is a little abbreviated.

"You've never had a cell phone?" he gapes.

"Of course I have," I roll my eyes. "Just not one of these computer phones."

"Oh they're great. You'll never put it down." I nod politely. I'm excited about getting an upgrade, but I would never let myself be one of those people who are stuck to their phones all the time. It's just plain rude. I move away from the clerk and continue playing with the various phones, but he follows on my heels.

"Listen, I just need a few moments to look," I say, hoping he'll take the hint and step off. He nods in understanding, but instead stays put. Okay, that is a little annoying. I look over to Eric who's now leaning across the counter to get a better view of the screen the guy behind it is accessing. I hear him say Bon Temps, so I figure they're still trying to locate it. Yeah, I'm from a real small town. Trying to ignore my shadow, I pick up another phone and slide the keyboard out, testing out typing my name and a few random words. I move on to the next, still being followed at every step when suddenly Eric is right beside me, having wedged himself between me and my shadow. He lifts a hand tucks some of my hair behind my ear.

"So lover, did you find one that you like?" he asks, pretty loudly.

I turn to look up at him with a confused expression, blocked from anyone else's view by the proximity of his body. He jerks his head in the direction of the retreating sales clerk and smirks, "Told you so."

I laughed, stepping away from him, and hold up the design I like. He gives it a thorough looking over and then rounds the counter, staring down intently at the offerings. Finding what he's looking for, he beckons me over and hands me his selection. It's pretty indistinguishable from the other, as far as I can tell. "This one has a greater memory capacity so you can store more things," he explains, "And it has the double cameras so it's easier to video chat. It's newer in general, so you'll have a whole month or so before you're obsolete again," he finishes. I defer to his choice and wander over to pick out accessories. They have a pink case for it. It will be coming home with us.

Eric pulls another couple of things off the wall and holds them up as options for me to choose from, explaining that I can use one to tether, which the providers generally don't like, but he'll happily show me how to set up, and the other is the device they sell to do the same exact thing for a small additional fee. Since I'm skipping the landline anyway, and this is my whole internet package, and since, if I buy the company's product above board, they'll owe me any tech support I may need, I opt for that. He takes my old phone off me and pulls out the battery and the SIM card and I set to making all the arrangements for a new number while cancelling my old one. Throughout the entire process he is looming over me, offering encouraging smiles every time I look up. As I'm paying, he's already busy transferring my contacts into the new phone and putting it in its case. "I added me," he says, as he hands it over, and we head back to the hotel to wait for Pam.

"Feeling liberated?" he asks, as we walk.

I nod with a smile. "Thank you, Eric," I say, stopping to grab his hand a moment so he stops too. "You've been awesome. With that, and, in general. I really appreciate it." I give his hand another squeeze so he knows I mean it before letting it drop.

"You're welcome, Sookie," he replies.

"I need to send out a mass message with the new number, I think," I say as we continue walking.

He agrees and asks, "So what's left on the list?"

"I guess I'll want to top off the oil tank, and cable I guess, but..." It's just occurred to me this moment that we donated my old television to goodwill before we left for Seattle, and the new one was technically Bill's. "Oh. Well, maybe not cable. I don't think I have a tv anymore," and after a pause. "I need to figure out how I'm going to get my things."

He seems to mull that over. Back at the hotel we just park ourselves in the lobby to wait for Pam. He shows me how to look up and verify that her flight came in on time. That was pretty cool. I know that phones can do that now. I've used other people's phones, and Bill's blackberry to look stuff up, but it was really cool to have one of my own now. I was beaming down at it when Pam arrived in a flurry, trailed by two bellhops, each laden with her bags. "Morning Pam," I sung out cheerfully, standing up. Impossibly, she hadn't noticed us sitting there. She stopped and turned toward us abruptly, nearly causing a collision in the luggage train.

"Barbie! Fancy meeting you here," she smiled and leaned in, giving me a double air kiss. "And you brought Ken," she drawled, smirking up at Eric.

"Pam," he said, as if it were 'hey'.

Marcia was already headed over to us, Pam's key card in hand. She handed a second one to the bellman, and shooed the pair on while Pam settled down next to us in the little ring of comfy chairs.

"Eric, Cater's been on since the plane landed," she began. "They're sending over a whole focus for this afternoon. I was hoping the courier would beat me here, but it seems not. You're due there at one again, but you're going to want a couple of hours to familiarize yourself with their requests before you go in. It's obviously designed to unsmooth your cool since yesterday it was entirely on the financials where you know your shit and theirs in and out. This is all HR nonsense. They want to grandfather in their pension scheme for their execs only..." she was going a mile a minute and had started leafing through a sheaf of documents she'd pulled from a leather folio, thrusting one after another at Eric, who was engrossed.

I zoned out, and went ahead composing my mass text to inform my contact list of my new number. I dithered a little, wondering if I should also include my new, old address, but decided that that could wait, and kept it brief. Eric and Pam's phones chirped in unison a couple of moments after I hit send, but they both ignored it. I saw the courier wander in and over to the desk and watched as Marcia approached and waited patiently for their attention. After a couple of minutes I gave Pam a nudge and nodded over to Marcia.

"Oh good," she said, turning back to Eric and breaking into the manila parcel without further interrupting the stream of their conversation. I smiled up at Marcia and mouthed a "Thank you," to her, and she flashed me a smile before turning to walk away. I played with my phone a bit more as I waited for them to finish, which came abruptly a few moments later when Pam's stomach rumbled audibly.

"Right, food," she looked around as Eric began gathering up the papers that had spread onto the low tables in front of us. "Let's just go across the way then, they do those powdery sugar things and omelettes to order." I felt a little awkward as I followed in their trail out the lobby and across the street to a rustic little restaurant with a small brunch crowd. We ordered up a pot of chicory coffee for the table and a plate of beignets while we waited for our eggs to be served. I had two, and I seemed to be the only one eating as she continued briefing him.

They continued all through breakfast, completely ignoring me as she recounted every syllable this "Cater" person had uttered to her that morning, and he went over everything from yesterday's meetings that she'd not yet been caught up on. An hour later he decided that he needed some time alone with the courier package, and she thought she could use a shower.

"Sookie, I'll meet you at the spa at noon?" she asked, as we were stepping back on to the elevator inside.

"Hm?" I said, stirring from my reverie. It was literally the first thing she'd said to me directly since the Ken comment. "Mmhm. Noon," I answered. She gave me an odd look and we rode up in silence. I got off at five and saw her shooting him the same sort of look as the doors closed behind me.

I wandered back to my room to see that it was after eleven. There wasn't time to do anything big, so I replied to the few texts I'd received in reply to my mass message while we'd been at the table. My awkward, weird feeling was persisting and I was trying to pin it down. I wasn't really a stranger to sitting by while a table full of people talked business over my head, but it had felt different then. I decided it was because before I was always attached to Bill in those instances, both figuratively and usually literally. I guess arm candy had been a pretty accurate description. It made me feel pretty sad actually, and a little lonely. Not lonely for Bill. He was a lying, cheating, bastard. Just lonely in general.

I decided that since I'd be heading down to be pampered and beautified in an hour anyway, and I wouldn't be seeing Eric again until whenever o'clock tonight, that I had some leeway. I grabbed the box of the lotion-infused tissues from the bath and went ahead and let myself cry. That's what accounted for the red hot mess I was when I swung open the door twenty minutes later to find dapper, business suit Eric asking if all was well, since I'd been so quiet at breakfast. I'd figured it was the laundry service. Jesus Christ.

"Sookie?" he asked again, following me hesitantly. I'd thrown up my hands in annoyance, since it was just _perfect_, and retreated a few paces back into the room. "Did something happen?"

"No Eric," I sighed heavily, as I continued to try to mop myself up. "I'm just," and I waved my arms around, fists clenching used tissues, at a complete and honest loss to describe my state. Finally I let my shoulders slump feeling wholly defeated.

"I'm just Breakup Barbie right now," I said, trying hard to control my voice. "I'm a sopping, sobbing mess, and there's really nothing for it but to let it out."

He seemed to reflect on that for a moment. "Dinner tonight with me and Pam?" he asked.

"Sure Eric," I said.

"I should be done around the same time."

"Sure Eric," I said again.

"I'd offer another hug or something, but," he started.

I sighed, and gave him the closest thing to a smile I could muster. "Eric, just...go." After another minute, he did.


	3. Charmed, I'm Sure

A/N - Yay reviews and alerts and people reading something I wrote! Thank you again. CF stands for clusterfuck (in case I'm not the only one who's learning that this week). I figured it would fit nicely into Sookie's meaning-but-not-actually-saying-cursewords vocabulary. I hope the pace isn't too slow for anyone. This magical borrowed week she's on is all in the vein of book four. Not to spoil too much, but yes, Bill will be rearing his ugly head again. Eric will be dropping out of sight for a while in the future (sorry). I'm pretty sure I'm going to skip the Quinn dalliance entirely. Non-telepathic Sookie has a more solid friend network, and won't have to seek comfort in the arms of the first pansy-eye to call her Babe. Okay, onwards.

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><p>I found Pam in the changing room of the spa waiting for me, already tucked into a shorter version of the plush robes found in our rooms. I'd been handed one when I came in, and I just started undressing and folding my clothes into one of the lockers. I'm a pretty modest woman in general, but sharing a communal bathroom at the sorority house had left me pretty comfortable about my body around other women, at least in a situation like this.<p>

"I knew they were real," she teased.

"Owe someone a dollar Pam?" I'd calmed down, but I still wasn't feeling great, and my tone had a bit of acid in it.

"You look a bit like hell, Sookie," she said after an appraising moment when I turned around.

"I feel a bit like hell, Pam," I replied.

"So Eric's said basically nothing beyond the fact that you've left Compton and are planning to move back to Bumblefuck. I'm not even really clear on why you're here, specifically. Are you going to fill me in?"

"Yeah, alright. I'm warning you now though, I'm expecting sympathy, and total indignation on my behalf. In heaps, Pam." I am completely serious.

"Okay, Sookie," she answered docilely.

"Well let's go let strangers rub on us for a few hours and I'll tell you all about it."

I gave her the full, unabridged version of my last two days while we were scrubbed, turned, buffed, and waxed. Normally a spa is supposed to be soothing and calm, but we completely ignored that rule while we were being worked over. Having your eyebrows ripped out at the roots while strangers brutally rub sandy clay all over your body is not exactly relaxing anyway. Even the woman exfoliating my calves couldn't help but agree with Pam that Bill was lower than pond scum, and she was nodding her approval the whole time I explained that I was refusing to talk to him or hear his excuses. Good as her word, Pam was appropriately empathetic. Lafayette had been right about the sisterhood thing. I might call some girls later and see if I could get another dose tomorrow.

Since I'd broken down in angry, frustrated tears again during my retelling, I took up the very tactful offer of a "cooling face and eye treatment." I found myself in a cloistered relaxation room with Pam, covered in cucumber jelly while we listened to the sound of rain and ambient wind chimes. I was sprawled out on a padded table, draped with a towel, with my eyes closed. They had to be really, since my lids were coated with slime. It actually did feel incredibly soothing.

"So, I have questions," she started, testing the waters a few minutes after we'd been abandoned to seek serenity.

"Go ahead," I said, waving her permission as though she could see me. Maybe she'd feel the air move.

"Mostly filling in the blanks," she continued. "You and Bill were living down here, but you also have a house up north?"

"It's my Gran's house. The house I grew up in. She left it to me when she died last year. We'd been maintaining it, using it for weekends, fixing it up a little, sorting through all her stuff a little bit at a time. It's pretty much empty now. There's still some furniture, but that's all. We were trying to find a tenant for a couple of months, but we didn't, so we just closed it up. My brother's still up there though, so he's been able to check in on the place."

"But why wouldn't you want to stay down here?"

"I don't know. It's not like I wouldn't want to, I love it here, but that's home. I feel like I need solid ground right now, more than anything."

"I can see that," she paused. "But you're sort of starting over, yes?"

"Yes," I agreed.

"So is Bumblefuck where you want to start over?"

"Bon Temps."

"Whatever. Is that where you intend to build your life?"

"I don't see why I couldn't. It's a nice place. Small, but nice. You know your neighbors and the mailman, and you stop and talk to the church ladies in the supermarket. It's a nice life."

"Since you're barely bothering, do I even need to call you on your bullshit?"

"My brother is probably the most contented guy I've ever met, and he's never left home," I say.

"Sookie, as near as I can tell from what you've told me of him, your brother is a dimwitted," she talked right over me as I started to object, "albeit loyal, kind, and loveable," she stressed quickly, "...redneck, who'd probably be just as _contented_ anywhere on earth so long as there was beer and a flatscreen." Okay, she had me there.

"And where would you have me Pam? Go ahead and solve my life then, please," I said, sounding tired.

"I think here."

I sighed. "I just don't know."

"Well, you have the week. I think that's why Eric's kept you here. To give you time to figure things out."

"Huh," I answered.

"Well, that and to try to get in your pants, I'm sure."

"I'm sure," I said. I was sure.

"Any thoughts on that you care to share?"

I answered her with a sigh.

"That's not a no," she finally said.

"It's not a yes. How he carries on...it's just not my style."

"How he carries on with you isn't exactly _his_ style, either."

"Meaning?"

"It's kids on the playground when it comes to you, Sookie. He's been pulling your pigtails for two years, and now he's got you here and it just isn't like him. He seems to be actually concerned for you as well, which is _definitely_ not like him."

"I've been kind of shocked, to be honest," I admit. "He's been crazy sweet on the whole."

"Exactly."

Huh. She'd left me with a lot to ponder. The attendants came in to clean us up then, and we said no more as we were lead away to separate rooms. I had a forty-five minute massage and it was wonderful. I zoned out completely and for that short time, I didn't have a care in the world. They lead me out to the mani/pedi room and I hopped up into one of the chairs while Alma got to work on my feet. She was good. I might have been drooling by the time they led Pam over. She oozed into a chair and they quickly immersed her extremities in warm paraffin.

"This is just what I needed," she murmured.

"Mmm," I couldn't help but agree.

It was close to six by the time we were dressing again to leave. I decided to take a walk. If I went back to the room now, I'd just fall asleep. Before heading out, I checked my phone and found a few messages waiting for me, so I sat down in the lobby to send my replies, waving Pam goodbye as she headed upstairs to her rooms. One of the replies to my change of number text was from Amelia, and simply read, "That's a NO area code."

I'd known Amelia Broadway since freshman year, we were in the same hall in the dorms. We'd bonded pretty quickly, even before we decided to pledge together. She'd come home with me for Thanksgiving and fallen in love with my grandmother. Consequently she'd been a frequent guest on school breaks and weekend laundry runs. Yes, we made four hour drives on the pretence of doing our laundry for free. Gran's fried chicken lunches on Saturdays and her Sunday dinners had nothing to do with it. Truly. Okay I'm a liar. We showed up hungry about once a month and she spoiled us, and we loved it. Amelia only had her father and they weren't close, so she was happy to be adopted and we were happy to have her.

She's a property manager here in town. Her father had given her a rental property for graduation. Meaning a whole three-storey building. She'd turned it into luxury apartments and had been shopping for a second property last month. She could probably offer some sage counsel on several fronts. I didn't bother with a message and just called her up directly.

"Sookie, what the hell?" she demanded, by way of answering.

"Hey Ames," I hedged.

"Hey Sookie," she mocked back in my same flat tone before demanding again, "What. The hell."

"Bill's a great big jerk. I'm home. Ish. I'm in town."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I just got here yesterday by way of CF. Are you busy tomorrow?"

"I will un-busy. What's going on?"

"Tomorrow, please Broadway?" I ask, putting a little whine in. I'm not doing this again today.

"Where are you?"

"Heaven, actually," I steered the conversation into calmer waters by starting to gush about the hotel.

"Oh, I know that place, Sten Northman owns that," she said. "I've been trying to push Dad toward hotels. Those little boutiques are really the thing right now," she rambles on as I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a moment. Well that explains a few things. Moving on for now.

"You should come for the spa sometime," I tried, "It's just fabulous. We just got out."

"We?"

Darn it. "Tomorrow Amelia, please?"

"Fine. Come for lunch, I can clear my afternoon but I'm meeting contractors in the morning. And there will be _full disclosure_," she emphasized.

"Full disclosure," I agreed.

"So are you back?" she asked.

I sighed, "I'm here. That's all you're getting cause it's all I've got."

"Alright hun, I'll see you tomorrow."

We hung up and I sauntered outside for a stroll. I was still feeling pretty mellow. It was getting dark again but it was still warm, and I wandered along the winding streets with no particular destination. When I passed a sporting goods shop, I popped in to buy another workout outfit and a headband. I ambled. Meandered. I may even have been traipsing. I wondered if Sten was Eric's dad or his grandfather. I could probably look it up on the phone and find a picture or a company profile or something, but it seemed to me I should just ask him. How to bring that up tactfully, I did not know. I knew he came from money, because in the beginning Bill has been really keen on impressing him and trying to make the social connection there. It wasn't a big deal to me. Amelia came from money. A few of the girls from school did. So his family owned a hotel. Actually, considering the familiarity Amelia had shown with the name Sten Northman, I could bet that it was probably more than one. Still, it was basically a whatever.

It was weird that he didn't just tell me though. It certainly accounted for the red carpet treatment I'd been receiving as his guest. Trudy from the desk had mentioned the connection to his business as well, so maybe it was the standard story that all his guests got? Did he have a lot of guests? Pert and bouncy female ones at that? But she'd mistaken me for working for him. Pam must have known, but she actually does work for him. I'd just have to ask. I was grateful for what he'd given me, whether he'd used a business or a family connection to give it. It was more than generous.

I stopped for a coffee and then found a bench to sit upon so I could watch the world go by. Seattle is good for its coffee, but you don't really find the chicory outside of Louisiana. I held it under my nose just inhaling until it cooled enough to drink. It kind of did smell like home. My phone rang, it was Eric.

"Hey," I answered. "What's up?"

"Hey Sookie, how are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm good. Thank you for the spa, Eric. It was lovely, Pam was lovely, the whole afternoon has been really great."

"Pam was _lovely_?" he queries in disbelief.

"Yeah. You should hang out with her sometime, she's pretty great," I suggest with a serious tone. Since Pam's job was basically to be in Eric's business all day, every day, I was trying to be amusing.

"She must want to bang you," he replies.

"Funny, that's what she said of you," I retort.

"Doesn't make it any less true," Which? "Listen, I'm back at the hotel, you didn't answer when I knocked. Are you in your room?"

"Nah. Sittin' on a park bench, sippin' coffee," I pause and take another sip for effect. "Everything okay? You're out early, right?"

"Yeah, change of plans. Well, planned surprise on their part, probably. Peter Threadgill's in town. He owns Arkansas Confederate. He's their Sophie Ann, but a bit more involved. Anyway, he's asked us to join him for dinner. You as well, of course," he continued with a chuckle. "I tried to use you as an excuse to get out of it, you know, my friend's in town this week, we're having dinner. And he just said to bring you along. It's a social thing, you know, grease the wheels."

"Hmm. Where? I mean, what's the dress? I got a little cocktail dress yesterday just to cover bases if I wanted to go out while I'm here, but it's not terribly fancy."

"That sounds fine. If it's not, I'm sure Pam will tell you," he said.

"I'm sure she will," I said, getting to my feet. "When are we leaving?"

"We've got an hour, how far away are you?"

"Not too far I think," I headed toward the nearest corner to get my bearings. I really hadn't been paying attention in the slightest. "No," I said, recognizing the street. "I'm just a few blocks over. Ten minutes, if that."

"Sookie are you alright? You sound a little strange."

"I'm fine Eric, I just have a lot on my mind," I bit my lip as I walked. "I'm sorry about this morning. You just surprised me, and I..."

"Sookie, it's fine. Get back, I'll see you in a bit."

He hung up and I walked with more purpose back to the hotel. It wouldn't take me long to get ready since I didn't plan on a shower. I was enjoying smelling like whichever oil the masseuse had used on me, so I'd just dress and fix my hair and put on a bit of makeup.

Trudy was on the desk again and waved her hello as I passed, asking after the afternoon she'd booked for us. "It was just wonderful Trudy, thank you. And Pam was pleased as punch as well. You're really spoiling us!" She beamed back at my praise and told me I was more than welcome before I headed upstairs.

The dress is pretty cute on. It's simple black silk v-neck that does justice to the girls with a narrowing bodice. The skirt flares just a bit over the hip and ends a couple inches above the knee. I wish I had heels to wear with it. My black flats are also slightly worse for wear after last night's footrace. I tried to smooth some of the scuffs off the leather, but it wasn't a great job. I pulled my hair back in a loose updo, finding a reason to be pleased with the dozen odd clips and hair pins that had been lurking at the bottom of my purse. The only necklace I had with me was a circle medallion on a gold chain, so that would have to do, but I'd fled with my diamond earrings in, and styling my hair up would show them off.

Bill had given me the earrings last year on Valentine's Day. He'd made a bit of a speech about it, wanting me to know that just because he wasn't putting a diamond on my finger, didn't mean that I didn't deserve them, and now I wouldn't have to wear as much costume jewellery when we went out. I thought it was incredibly sweet at the time, but thinking back, I guess it was just a really expensive backhanded compliment. Jerk.

I finished my makeup, which, since I didn't have much with me, was light but elegant. Lipstick always last, and once it was on I leaned over to the full length mirror and gave myself a little peck by way of blotting. It was my little ritual, a reminder to be sweet to myself. I'd wipe it off before the maid could see. I gave myself a final appraisal and considered it good. I headed up to Pam's room first, giving a Shave and a Haircut knock on her door.

"_Really_ Sookie?" She asked rhetorically as she swung open the door to let me in and paced back to her bathroom after barely sparing me a glance. She's wearing ivory chiffon trimmed in gold with strappy heels. She looks amazing as usual. I follow her, hopping up to sit on the edge of her bed so I can call in to her while she primps.

"Pam do you have anything in the way of a shrug or a wrap that will work with this?" I spread my arms out so she can see the top of my dress when she turns to look.

"Check the closet," she says. "And find some heels." Perfect.

"Thank you Pam!" I sing sweetly. I found a pair of simple black pumps with an ankle strap and slipped them on. Pam wore a seven and a half, and I a seven, but I'd been walking around, and they didn't feel loose or anything. She did have a black satin shrug hanging on a hanger but when I tried it on it made me look a bit dowdy. I paced back to the bathroom door for a second opinion.

"Take that off," she ordered. "Suffer the cool like I will. Besides, your skin looks great. It would be a shame to cover it up anymore than you have to for decency's sake. And then go fetch Eric," she finished, turning back to her eye shadow. Well I'd been told. I shrugged out of the shrug and hung it back up and headed back out into the great room, which was indeed, identical in size and splendour to the one I'd seen this morning.

"Back in a bit then," I called, as I left. I gave Eric's door the same rat-tat-tat-TAT-TAT.

"Coming," I heard him call from inside. When he opened the door my jaw dropped for a moment before I caught myself and smiled. His suit is black and close fitting and impeccably tailored. He's got a crisp white shirt on with the top two buttons open and a white handkerchief hastily stuck in his pocket. His hair is down around his shoulders. He has missed some shaving cream on his cheek. He is both adorable and mouth watering. I brighten my smile and pull the pull the cloth from his pocket to dab at his cheek before folding it and tucking it back in. He is still staring at me.

"Sorry," I offer, in apology for grooming him, in case I'd violated his personal space. "You look great!" I enthused. "I really like the jacket."

He nods. "Thanks, you're beautiful," he replies quickly and smiles. "You look beautiful, that is."

"Thanks," I return. "Pams in ivory and gold. She's a goddess as usual. She sent me to fetch you."

"I just need to braid and then I'm good to go I think. Come in," he finally steps out of the doorway, letting me inside. I do my hovering in the foyer thing again. He returns in just a couple of minutes, his hair now braided back and held in place with another leather tine. He holds out his arms and does a quick turn around. Yup. Both adorable and mouth watering. I give him a sweet smile as I nod in approval. He grins and steps quickly in front of me to get the door and we head back to retrieve Pam.

There's a town car waiting for us downstairs and Pam judiciously takes the front seat, while Eric opens the rear door and guides me inside before crossing to slide in next to me, behind the driver. I buckle up out of habit, which seems to amuse him, but he follows suit.

"So who's turning up tonight?" I ask.

"Peter, Jennifer, and Jade," Eric rattles off, "Peter's son whose name escapes me."

"David," answers Pam from the front.

"David, who is an imbecile. Laura, Peter's daughter, and one of her school friends. The daughter lives down here his second ex-wife. He's multi-purposing the dinner to see her while he's in town, and remind me that he has a vested interest on a personal level to move more of their organization here."

"But haven't you just moved almost all of your operations up to Washington?" I ask.

"Yes but that was sort of in preparation for this. We've consolidated there, leaving room to merge with them here, if that makes sense. Once this is through they will be us, and we, them, so even though it's them, technically we will still be here," he smiles. He must realize how convoluted that sounded.

"We'll be integrating staff here across the board when it's done. Basically, we've uncluttered the offices here to make room for them, that's all." That makes a bit more sense.

"So why's David an imbecile?" I ask.

"Genetics," Pam offers.

"Not really," Eric disagrees. "Peter's very calculating, sometimes too much so. He's managed to manoeuvre himself out of veritable windfalls on several occasions because he's convinced that sideways is always the best approach. He, specifically, is what keeps me wary of this entire undertaking. Once the particulars are hashed out, the merger promises to be mutually beneficial. I'm sure your Gran told you that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, yes?"

I smiled, nodding.

"Right, well Peter doesn't subscribe to that philosophy. The bird is always suspect. Anyway, David just mistakes privilege for cleverness and wealth for entitlement. He's an ass."

"And we've chosen to meet these people socially?" I ask.

"They're not antisocial. I'm cutting it down to brass tacks for you. Things like this are helpful to me because it gives me greater insight on what I'm dealing with across the conference table. There'll be some posturing throughout, but you've seen that kind of thing before I'm sure. Who'll pick the wine, who'll pay the check. I'm curious about the daughter. You'll like Jade, she's like you a bit."

"Oh?"

"She's the stereotypical demure asian woman, to your southern belle, about ninety percent of the time, but when she's riled up, she's spitting fire. It just comes at you so unexpectedly."

"Did you just relate me to a part-time dragon lady?"

"A bit," he grinned. I huffed. Pam practically cackled.

"And Jennifer?" I ask.

"Jennifer Cater," said Pam. "She's Peter's me, but without my charm and taste."

"Okey dokey," I said, thoroughly briefed.

The restaurant was swanky as expected. I moved to get out as we pulled up but Eric pressed his hand to my forearm to stall me, and hopped out himself, jogging around to get my door while the driver got out to get Pam's. We were definitely going to be showing off our (hem hem) company manners tonight. He took my arm to help me out of the car and walked me to the doors with his hand at the small of my back where it stayed until the server led us through to our table where the Threadgill party was already seated. The men stood when we arrived.

Eric moved to shake hands with Peter and then David. "Peter, you know Pam Ravenscroft, she'll be joining us tomorrow, and this is our friend Sookie Stackhouse. Ladies this is Peter Threadgill of Arkansas Confederate, and his son David Threadgill.

"How do you do?" I smiled politely at each man in turn.

"Miss Stackhouse I understand you're visiting Louisiana this week?" said Peter, retaking his seat as Eric helped me to mine and David helped Pam before retaking his own.

"I'm actually just making a move back from Seattle. Eric was kind enough to find room for me while my house is being opened this week."

"Ah, here in town?" Peter asks.

"Actually I'm a bit closer to your neck of the woods, sir, just outside of Shreveport."

He nodded. "Well, before I'm remiss, this is Jennifer Cater, Jade Chou, and on the end are my daughter Laura and her friend Mitchell Rice."

I smile again at each in turn.

"Laura and Mitchell, the tall fellow is Eric Northman," says Peter with a smile.

"Pleasure," smiles Eric. And now that we're finally settled, the waiter passes out the menus and tells us about the specials, the lamb dish he describes sounds excellent and I say so. He wanders off, giving the rest of the table time to deliberate. To give myself something to do, I peruse the wine list. I'm not the oenophile Bill was, but a few of the bottles on offer are things I'm pretty sure I've tried. I look up and realize that Peter seems to be glancing around the table. I offer him the wine list, in case that's what he was looking for.

"Anything look good there?"

"Oh. Um. The 2006 Syrah is quite nice," I answer.

"Hmmm. Alright then. Any preferences on the white?" Peter asks, glancing around the table.

"I wouldn't mind a glass of pinot gris," offers Jade, and Pam voices her agreement. There's a bit more murmuring about what looks good, and we're finally ready to order. As we go around the table, all the women but me have ordered some variation on salad. I feel him nudge my foot and I turn to give him a grin. He's ordered the lamb as well. The Threadgills are having steak and Mitchell is trying the duck. Peter orders the wine for the table.

Pam and Laura have struck up a conversation about shoes and Eric and Peter seem to be talking about some software company that's been in the news.

"Do you work, Sookie?" Jennifer asks. I figure she's not being impolite, she just doesn't know me from Eve.

"Yes ma'am, I'm a schoolteacher. Math. Well, I hope to be again by the fall term, at least. The move, and all."

"Ah, I was never very good in math, I'm afraid. I did my required courses and that was enough!" she offers with chagrin.

"Oh, I love it. It's so exact! Even more so I like teaching it. I really like the middle school age. I feel like that's such a vital time to reach them."

"Math was my second major," adds Jade.

"Oh, me too! Well, obviously. Math and secondary education, you?"

"Business," she smiles.

The ice broken, I find myself chatting with everyone at the table to some extent. When the wine arrived, Peter heartily approved the Syrah before pouring for me, and then passing the bottle to Eric. When the waiter checked back, he went ahead and ordered two more bottles.

"Sookie, did I hear you say you're a math teacher?" Peter asked me. I nodded with a smile.

"We should see if we can get you into Peterson. Laura tells me there's a very recent vacancy."

"Oh?" I ask, quite interested.

Laura and Mitchell are practically sniggering. Peterson Academy is a private day school here in New Orleans. It's fairly prestigious with a lot of notable alumni. Apparently it's where Laura and Mitchell attend, as well.

"Mister Barker was arrested with a male prostitute over the weekend," the teenager giggles. "He was in on Monday, but they called him from class and made it a study hall and dismissed him right in the middle of the day."

"Oh that's terrible!" exclaims Pam. I can't tell if she's being a little sarcastic or not. It's clear the gay part has added immeasurably to their adolescent amusement with the scandal, and being a lesbian herself, she's probably a bit uncomfortable. The rest of the group seemed in agreement that it was certainly grounds for dismissal though. I silently decided that I would send them my resume. Just to see.

The dinner wore on and proved to be far more pleasant than I'd prepared myself for. Eric had been right, I did like Jade. We'd gotten into a long conversation about the language of flowers, struggling to remember what we could about all the obscure meanings. I'd always thought it was bizarre that marigolds stood for pain and grief. They were such sunny little blooms. David had been mostly silent. The one tense moment came up when he tried to raise politics as topic for conversation. When my opinion had been asked, I replied that my grandmother had always said that politics makes not only strange bedfellows, but atrocious dinner guests, which got a laugh from everyone, and Jennifer deftly switched the talk to a new restaurant she'd found.

When the check came, Peter _insisted_ and Eric put up his hands in surrender. While we waited outside for the cars and said our goodbyes, I actually ended up exchanging contact information with Jade so she could send me a list of a few books we'd discussed. I thanked her in advance, assuring her they'd be a giant leap up from my usual fare of trashy novels. Jennifer confessed to sharing my guilty pleasure and we startled the men folk in the way that peals of feminine laughter tend to, as we all three made jokes about bodice ripper tropes.

Our car came first, and Peter handed me in with a peck on the cheek as he declared me charming, leaving Eric to assist Pam before he joined me in the back seat. "Y'all had me so worried, but that was lovely," I exclaimed as we pulled away. Wine brings out my accent.

"That was...bizarre," said Pam. "I actually enjoyed myself." She contorted herself in the front so she could face us with her chin resting on the seat. She was plainly feeling the wine as well. "Sookie, stay in town and always come to these." I caught Eric raise his eyebrows at that. "Did you see her Eric? She even stopped David's dickery in its tracks with aplomb."

"I saw," he said. He'd been quiet for a while and was apparently still being so.

"So what's your schedule like for tomorrow?" I asked them.

"I'm meeting Jennifer in the morning so we can schedule the afternoon and Friday, and then Eric, you need to be in by eleven. I've no idea how long we'll be. I'll call after we hash out the schedule," said Pam.

"I'm seeing a friend in the afternoon. She'll keep me busy. You don't need to worry about me."

"Anyone I know?" Eric asks.

Maybe, I think to myself. She knows your family, apparently. You could very well know hers. "Amelia Broadway?" I ask. I'm kind of glad she doesn't use her father's last name. He would definitely know the name Copely Carmichael. He shakes his head, not recognizing her name.

"How is the phone working?"

"It's great. I kept thinking of things I wanted to look up on the internet earlier, and being so tickled at the thought that I could if I wanted to!"

"But, you didn't actually look anything up?"

"No, I decided it was rude." He was giving me another high eyebrow. "What?" I demanded.

"Nothing, Sookie," he said, sounding amused.

It was only just after ten when we got back to the hotel. It seemed later than that though. I yawned as we rose in the elevator.

"Headed right to bed?" Eric asked me.

"No, I think I'll read or watch that giant television or something. You make a good argument against going to sleep too early. I don't want to be stuck tired in the afternoon."

Pam was slumped against the wall, holding herself up by the railing. "Poor Pam," I said patting her shoulder. "Want your shoes back?" I ask.

"Tomorrow," she murmurs. She's been up since six Seattle time. The elevator dinged open on five and I bade them goodnight and wandered down to my room. I hadn't had time to notice earlier but my laundry is back, neatly folded inside of a clear plastic bag on the table. The laundry bag itself is back hanging in the closet. I fish it out and put my stinky workout wear from this morning in along with everything but the dress, which I hang, as I strip off. I fill out the card and tuck it outside the door again. I pull on my sleep set, a tank top and pink shorts, and another new pair of socks, just because I can, darn it, and I'm about halfway through unpinning my hair when there's a knock at the door.

This time, I make sure to check the peep hole, but the only thing in my field of vision is the DVD box for Kill Bill. I laugh as I open up, because anyone bearing that is welcome company. He's wearing track pants and a t-shirt, so I hardly feel underdressed. Okay, that's like the 6th new outfit he's had on. He brought one suit with him on the plane. I beckon him inside and he walked right through and opens up the console to reveal the DVD player.

"Eric, do you live here?" I asked, standing back in front of the mirror and trying to unfuss my hair.

"What?" he asks.

"When I spoke with Amelia today, she's Copely Carmichael's daughter, by the way," I just hadn't wanted to do this in front of Pam. "It was right after I got out of the spa, so I was raving about it, and she asked where I'm staying and I told her, and she said she knew this place, and that Sten Northman owns it. I'm thinking that coincidence, and the fact that you apparently keep a wardrobe here, add up to a bit more than you previously disclosed." There. That was direct and hopefully tactful.

After a long pause where I can hear him moving around and playing with the video setup he answers, "It's my grandfather's, and yes, that's my room more or less in perpetuity. I use it when I'm here, but I don't live in New Orleans at this point, so no, I don't live here. We do have a contract through Area Five, though that probably exists in part because of the connection but mostly because it's just a nice place. The hotel is being paid for Pam's accommodation and yours through that."

"It was a bit like a lie, and I've got a real low tolerance for those this week," I state. I'm not judging too hard at this point, but I've also got a low tolerance for any more surprises this week too.

"A lie of omission, I suppose, of irrelevant information." He is unapologetic.

"So what's with that?" I prompt.

"Habit, I suppose. I know a dozen men and woman that are just the same as David, and use their family connections and wealth to get to places they shouldn't be or rub shoulders with people they don't deserve to know. I try to be the opposite of that, and downplay any connections I might have that haven't been forged through my own merit."

"Well don't do that with me, okay? If we're going to be friends, and I think we're friends now, I don't like finding out things about you from someone else that a friend would tell a friend." Three glasses of the Syrah. I'm proud I'm not slurring, coherence is entirely optional at this point.

"Alright," he agrees.

After another pause, "On the subject of things that friends discuss with friends," he began. "You're considering staying in New Orleans? You seemed to perk right up at the prospect of a job opening at that school here, and from what Pam said in the car it seemed like something you'd talked about."

"She made some good points today in the relaxation room." My hair was down now, but I stayed up at the mirror and started to brush it out. "What it boils down to is that if I'm going to restart, I should consider doing it somewhere more open ended. Bon Temps is a small town full of people with small lives. I'm not saying I don't want that, cause in spite of her opinions, simple and happy still doesn't sound like a bad plan for life in general, but I'm not sure I'm ready to resign myself. So I'm mulling it over. And yeah. I'm going to send my resume to Peterson first thing in the morning. That'd be a dream gig. I won't get it, but I'd kick myself if there were any chance and I hadn't tried."

He'd started pulling his own hair out of its braid and I tossed my brush over to land on the couch beside him so he could use it.

"Pam also suggested that you'd convinced me to stay out the week in part to give me time and neutral turf to think about stuff like this, so I guess I owe you another thank you."

"Don't give me full credit there. It's a by-product of my actual motivations at best," he grinned up at me then made an exaggerated wincing face as he hit a tangle while he brushed. Baby. When he finished, he leaned forward and pulled open the doors on the little cabinet beneath the coffee table which I'd previously assumed were merely decorative, and pulled out a soft and cosy blanket. He slapped his hand down on the couch beside him indicating I should sit. When I did he threw the blanket over the pair of us and started the movie, but went ahead and talked over the opening scenes anyway. He was kind of lucky I'd already seen this. I hate it when people try to make you talk through a movie.

"I figured out how you can get your stuff back by the way."

"Yeah?" I ask. Okay I take it back. It's fine to be interrupted with good news.

"Yeah. I'm going to send them both to Arkansas next week to meet with their software team and inventory and collate the overlapping assets. Also I'm going to find the shittiest truckstop motel Pam can muster and have them booked there. One with hourly rates if at all possible." He grinned down at me, clearly pleased with himself. "But that'll clear the coast so you can fly back and pack and ship whatever you need to out of your condo, and do whatever else that needs doing without seeing him."

"You're like an evil mastermind."

"Yes, but I am trying to mend my ways by using these powers only for good now," he says, slinging a heavy arm around me. "You really were great at dinner tonight," he said after a while. His arm was weighing on my shoulder in an awkward way, totally undoing my masseuse's efforts. I was forced to scoot closer to him to stay comfortable. I had practically no choice whatsoever.

"Thanks, I guess. They were all pretty nice."

"It was kind of weird to see you so extroverted in that situation. Good weird," he added hastily. "But before at these kinds of dinners I've only seen you kind of subdued."

"I don't want to talk about him any more tonight, Eric," I sigh, feeling little waves of sadness stirring and wanting to keep them at bay. "I'm eight hours and counting without bursting into tears. Let's go for a record."

"Alright," he said, giving me another squeeze. "I'm out of handkerchiefs right now anyway."

"There's two of yours in with the clean laundry on the table. They even pressed them. Don't forget to grab them later."

I woke up to find myself hugged to Eric's torso again with the DVD menu looping. He was snoring softly and I felt less embarrassed than I would have if I had woken up to him shaking me awake again, as he'd had to on the plane. At least I wasn't the only one who'd fallen asleep. I took a moment to enjoy the comfort. His arm had dropped across my back and he was catching a bit of inadvertent boob graze where his fingers had fallen across my side. Nice as it was right now though, I didn't want either of us to stay all night like this.

"Eric." I murmured as I patted his chest lightly and started to pull myself up from him. Then, a bit louder, "Eric?" He drew in a deep breath and wrapped his other arm tight around me for a moment, squishing me against him.

"Mmmnff," I mumbled against his chest, straining to lift my head. I succeeded when he loosened his hold on me. "Eric I'm going to bed," I say.

"'Kay," he says and lets me pull away to stand up while keeping contact as his hand slides across my shoulders and down my arm as I'm drawing away. He's still holding on to my hand by the time I'm standing up.

"Come on then," I say and tighten my fingers around his as I give him a tiny pull.

He follows me back to the bedroom letting go of me long enough to slump to the far side of the bed and make his way under the covers. I have a moment of hesitation before I do the same. I don't know if I'm too tired to care or if I really don't mind. Either way, I slink in and his hand finds mine again under the covers and that's how I fell back to sleep.

Come the morning I wake again and hear him moving around in the bathroom. I turn to face the door just as he emerges. He's standing there looking a little uncertain about how to proceed. It is a strange expression on his face.

"Good morning," I say, taking pity on him.

"G'morning," he says back. "I think I need to get back to my phone before Pam starts calling," he finally says. "She's out early today."

"Okay," I say. Maybe I gave a tiny sigh.

"Come up in a bit? We'll order in breakfast."

I moan and whimper at the thought of getting out of this bed and pull the covers up around me, snuggling back down.

"Not fair," he says.

"Too comfy," I whine. I was. What kind of mattress is this? I was going to need a new one anyway. I would pull the sheets up and check into that later. It was perfect.

He crosses nearer to the bed so I seize the covers around me and pull them up tight over my head. He pulls the pillow out from under me and proceeds to 'batter' me with it and I play along making angry noises about being roused in this unseemly fashion. Finally I flop my arms down carrying the sheet and covers with them, sit up, and hop out of bed. "Alright, alright," I say, pushing past him into the bathroom and closing the door behind me.

"See you in a bit," he calls through the door.

"Handkerchiefs!" I call back. I head for the sink, looking up a little reluctantly to check out the bed head situation. Not too bad, thankfully. I hear the door out front open and close while I'm brushing my teeth and when I finish, I slip into the shower.

Back in floral steam nirvana, it occurs to me how not-awkward that entire scene just was. Considering it had the potential to be really awkward, I find myself glad. That was just a sleepover party with my new pal Eric. Complete with pillow fight. We even had truth or dare, sort of. Well, with the truths anyway. I was genuinely enjoying his company. It felt really nice to just be liked. He wasn't coy about it, and he wasn't hung up on it either. I decided to like Eric Northman. Not necessarily in a romantic way, but just as a person. I'd spent most of our acquaintance thinking he was a really bad guy. Turns out I was wrong. Well, I'm woman enough to admit when I'm wrong. It's such a rare occurrence after all that it's worth noting when it does crop up.

I was feeling cheerful again as I dried and dressed. Heading out, I saw the clean laundry pile on the table with a little note on top of it. I realized as I stepped closer that the paper was wedged strategically between the two cups of one of my bras, and that in fact most of the pile consisted of my underwear. I started to pink up even before I read, "Sookie, if you wanted to get me in your panties, you only had to say. -E." That Eric. I grinned.

I knocked on his door a few minutes later, only to be greeted by Pam who looks striking in a navy blue power suit. "Good morning Pam!" I chimed brightly. She lifted her brow giving me a hard look. Guess you have to get up earlier than we had to pull the wool over Pam's eyes. I'd have to clear that up later before she settled too far into her assumptions.

"Good morning Sookie," she said, stepping back to let me inside.

I found the room service menu already open on the dining room table and started reading. "Do you have time for breakfast?" I asked her.

"I don't, unfortunately," she replied. "I'm due to meet Cater in half an hour," she confirms after checking her watch. She's clearly waiting for Eric's attention before she leaves, and the awkwardness I'd been so pleased to have missed earlier has finally made it's appearance. The silence in the room right now is not a comfortable one.

Eric comes out still towelling his hair and Pam quickly hurries to him demanding his blackberry which he hands right over. He gives me a strained look over her head that seems to convey that he's feeling the awkward as well. She is making adjustments to his schedule and reminding him about eleven and 401k's and something about security. I can see her shooting him the same kinds of odd looks that I'd gotten when she opened the door for me. I've got my own phone with me and send her a text. "You know what they say about assuming. Girl talk later." I hear her phone chime and look up to see her checking it. She seems a little less tense as she finishes putting Eric in order for the day. On her way out she gives me a nod and the hint of a smile. Crisis averted.

"She caught me coming off the elevator," he says once she's gone. "She thinks we're fucking now." I winced. He can be a bit crude.

"Nah," I said, hoping she'd taken that much at least from my message. "I think she knows me better than to assume that." I leave it there. He does not need to know that I'll be sitting her down later to gab about what a sweetie pie and a gentleman he is, nor the fact that I'll mean every word when I do.

"I'm thinking blueberry pancakes," I say, nudging the menu toward him to change the subject. It works as a diversion and he rattles off his preference which amounts to enough food to ... Well, ultimately it turns out to be just enough food to fill an Eric, but I'd been thinking more along the lines of "feed small army" or "sink a ship" while I listened to him call in the order.

He stretches back on his chair after breakfast and pats his full belly with a big contented smile on his face. We had chatted throughout our meal mostly about my sorority friends since he'd started by asking about my plans for the day, and then about Amelia. Speak of the devil my phone starts to ring and it's her. I excuse myself to take the call and get up to take a few steps toward the door. It's not for privacy's sake. I just have my thing about phones at the table. Gran had no tolerance for that, and I was duly conditioned.

"Hey Ames," I answer.

"Sook, hi, listen. I may have screwed up," she starts. Super.

"What's up?" I asked with trepidation.

"I ran into Tara and Arlene while I was out last night. Blah blah blah, they're coming for lunch."

"Oh. That's not such a screw up," I say kindly.

"It is, because of the full disclosure I was promised."

"You'll get the full disclosure," I assure her rolling my eyes. "Maybe only after they leave, but I'm good as my word Broadway."

"Alright," she seemed relieved. "Let me get back to my morning then," she says. "My place at noon. I was just going to fix something for us, but I'm not doing all that for four. We'll go somewhere when they get there."

"Sure thing, I'll see you in a bit, love you."

"Love you," she said, and hung up.

"It's a Kappa reunion for lunch it seems," I say as I sit back down, explaining that two other friends would be joining Amelia and I.

"So kind of like demons then. Speak of them, and they appear," he teases.

I made a, "Tscha," sound in response. He had told me he skipped out on Greek life at school, an extension of his whole connections and privilege hang-up. He had a low opinion of the system in general, as a lot of people do, when they only know the stereotype.

"It's not like that," I had started to explain, but I had to concede some of his point. "Well, it is and it isn't. Some people are like that, yes, but some are not. Just like there are some David's and some you's in your whole corporate network," I finished.

"What made you join?" he'd asked.

"I just thought it sounded like a real nice idea," I say. "The whole sisterhood, friends for life thing. It was only ever me and Gran and Jason, and now it's just me and Jason. My girls give me kind of an extended family that we always missed." He'd stared at me until I started to feel a little embarrassed about my sappy admission. "What?" I asked him.

He must have only just realized he'd been staring. He shook his head and gave me a smile. "Nothing. You're just... honest."

"Don't get much of that, do you?" I'd joked.

"No, I guess I really don't," he said, seriously.

"You must be in the wrong line of work," I grinned. He'd chuckled and just shook his head. I knew he liked his job.

I felt compelled to tidy up the breakfast things despite his telling me that we could just leave them. When I finished I figured it was time to excuse myself so he could get ready for the rest of his day.

"I'll give you a call later once I know when we'll be through tonight," he says.

"I have no idea where I'll get dragged around either, so yes, I'll have my phone with me."

I get up to leave and he gets up to dress. He walks me to the door and I head back down to my room.


	4. Money, Honey

A/N Thank you again for the warm response this is getting. I'm having fun writing this.

* * *

><p>When I return to my room I go through my email to find a copy of my resume. This phone is awesome. It's up to date, so all I need to do is figure out how to word the email to the Headmaster at Peterson Academy. "Dear Sir, The unfortunate circumstances surrounding the recent vacancy you seem to have for a math teacher proved a great laugh at dinner last night. Please consider me," probably wasn't going to fly. I took so long deliberating that once I'd finished it was time to head to Amelia's. I'd decided to go with standard and formal in the end, rather than anything more affectedly delicate. Sometimes blindness is the greatest courtesy. I simply stated that I was recently returned to the area and hoped to be considered for any position in their math faculty. I'm sure he'd had more than enough reminders this week about the immediate vacancy itself, let alone any allusions to the unfortunate circumstances surrounding it.<p>

Amelia's apartment was too far to walk, so Marcia from the desk called up a car for me. It ended up being one of the hotel's town cars rather than a taxi. I wanted to balk but instead I decided to just go with it. I could give Miss Manners a run for her money today, I was sure. I had hoped to have a few minutes alone with Amelia before the others arrived, but there was no such luck. The three of them were waiting out on the street for me and once I'd thanked my driver and joined them it was a solid three minutes of hugs and shrieking. I know that some people make fun of women who do this, but I don't feel like there's a single thing wrong with being thrilled to see your friends again and showing it. Besides, I'm a hugger by nature.

I wasn't as close to Tara and Arlene as I was to Amelia, not by a mile. They were good girls though. Amelia had elected today of all days to start being discrete, and had not mentioned to the other two why I was back now, after having only moved a month ago. I guess she didn't have much to tell them. I held up my hands when they asked and suggested we head to lunch.

"It's a bit of a story, girls, we might as well be sitting down," I told them all.

Amelia led the way, this was her neighbourhood after all, and she picked a little café. Even though it was nice out, we sat inside for a bit more privacy. I gave the three the entire ugly tale, from arriving home Monday night to arriving in New Orleans, except I left out Eric entirely. Instead, I just told them I was staying at the hotel for a week taking some time to think and to act in favour of my next step. Amelia, who'd not only caught my 'we' yesterday, but who had wheedled information out of me enough times in the past to know exactly when I was withholding, said nothing. She gave me a steady look once I'd finished in acknowledgement of the fact that she knew there was more to the story. The other two took no notice of it. Since I'd finished talking, they were finally free to erupt in paroxysms of sympathy, and they did so.

Bill was soundly abused for the next hour. Generally, I don't agree with this sort of thing. No, not for the sake of the lying, mistreating, rat bastard, whoever he happens to be at the time, but rather for the sake of the friendship. One of the worst things that happened to me in High School, or at least the biggest drama, involved a friend that broke up with her boyfriend. I'd joined her in a show of solidarity and insulted him as best as I could give, bringing up all his many slights against her and how much better she was without him. I comforted her when she grew weak and pined after him, and I helped her avoid him when he finally realized he was sorry. Then two weeks later they got back together, and she hated my guts for all the crap I'd put down about the love of her life. I lost a best friend overnight. She literally never spoke to me again. They got married last spring and she's now expecting. They live down the road from Jason. So I'd had my lesson the hard way about boyfriend bashing, but since I was sure as sunshine I wasn't ever letting Bill Compton back into my bed, I let them go right on.

I didn't really feel the need to participate, so instead I just nodded and laughed when appropriate. I thanked them genuinely every time they paid me compliments intended to bolster my spirits. They concluded that Bill had never wanted to commit to me, and that he was clearly brain damaged for that since I was a catch on every level. Furthermore, coaxing me to move to Seattle with him in the first place was unconscionable. He should be smote down from on High for that one. I was guilty only of trying to support my man in his work, which was commendable. He had not only the wrong priorities, but the emotional capacity of a dishrag. Lorena was a filthy whore who deserved herpes, full stop. Once we got to that point, the conversation finally shifted and the commiseration receded.

Arlene turned to me, all concern, "Is it okay if I share happy news?"

I gave her a big smile. "Yes, please."

She opened her purse and coyly slid a picture onto the table, face down. When she flipped it over with a huge smile it proved to be a still from her sonogram. Hugs and squealing broke out all around again. Arlene is sweet with a big heart, but her trouble is that she always gives it away too quickly. She was on marriage number two. Her parents had made her get the first one annulled when she eloped right after graduation. I didn't know her husband too well, but I got the sense that in the fullness of time, the likelihood that we'd be sitting here comforting Arlene some day, instead of me, was high. A baby was something else entirely, and the fact that she was about to have someone that truly deserved the unconditional love she could give made me a little misty. She was going to be a wonderful mom.

"Arlene, that's the best news I could have gotten today!" I exclaimed, peering at the grainy photograph.

"I don't know what I'm going to call him," she fretted, "Nothing seems perfect yet."

"Do you already have a book of baby names?" Tara asks.

"No, I should, I've just been making a list every time I hear one that I like. We only found out a couple of weeks ago," Arlene beams.

We agreed to head over to a bookstore and see what we could find in the way of baby books for Arlene, and I was eager to pick up one of Jade's suggestions to try. Leaving the café, Tara pulled me back, letting the other two walk a bit ahead.

"Listen, I didn't want to say anything in front of everyone, but just so you know, they'll get theirs. Bad things come to bad people," she says to me, speaking quietly. I pull back a moment to study her face as she's sounding incredibly serious at the moment.

"Tara?" I'm asking what she meant by that.

"I couldn't say anything before, because you were with Bill, and Bill's with Area Five, but just so you know, six months from now both the horse's ass and that ugly cow will be out of a job."

I lift my eyebrows. "Tara, what are you trying to say?"

"Sookie, the entire focus of my job for the last three months has been to aggressively lobby their shareholders to sell. My boss has been meeting with members of their board to try to pull them to accept our tender for weeks. Arkansas is taking over Area Five one way or another, and there are _no plans_ to keep their staff when we already have eleven hundred of our own." She said it with satisfaction and assurance. Well, why wouldn't she?

I gaped. I have no idea what she thought I was thinking, but I would bet a billion dollars she was wrong. She squeezed my shoulders to her in a half hug.

"So don't worry about them. Like I said, they'll get theirs. Karma's a bitch." She started to walk and I let her guide me.

Jesus. H. Christ.

At least now I realized why Arkansas Confederate had sounded so familiar to me when I'd heard it. Tara had started in their finance department right after we'd graduated. For the first time ever, I found myself wishing I had paid attention more to this kind of thing. I was honest to goodness flabbergasted. My first thought was that I was glad I hadn't told them I was staying with Eric. My next thought was if I should tell Eric. Would that be like insider trading if I told him? Or corporate espionage? Or I don't know, what do white collars go to jail for? I was kind of freaking out. Tara must have taken my silence for relief or gratitude or something, because she was being pretty cheerful as she caught us up to Ames and Arlene. My face had to be wan.

"All right Sookie?" Arlene asked with concern once we'd reached them.

"Hmm?" I'd heard my name. I scramble for a moment to reframe her comment. "Oh I'm... you know, just glum, I guess. It comes and goes. But let's... be happy now. Baby books," I tried to finish stronger but I don't think I succeeded there. I did succeed in getting concerned looks from all three of them, so I guess the ploy had some effect. It wasn't evident what I was upset about, just that I was upset.

Did I need to talk to a lawyer about this? I mean, Tara could probably lose her job maybe, if I told and they acted in a certain way. Eric and Pam could lose their jobs maybe, if I didn't tell. Tara would hate me. Maybe I should have told them all about Eric, then Tara would never have told me. If she never told me, I couldn't try to stop it. Did I want to stop it? But she did tell me! I was a lynchpin that could or could not topple corporate infrastructures! Like Caesar at the Arena! Jesus H. Christ!

My rational brain finally got a hold on the bedlam careening around the rest of my conscious mind. Step 1: Buy baby books, and a couple of novels. Step 2: Go back to Amelia's house. Step 3: Fully disclose the Eric situation. Step 4: ... Well, step four was at least two hours away, I didn't have to get that far right now. I pulled myself together as we arrived at the store and led the charge toward the section of baby-related literature.

I switched off, and let myself enjoy the company of my friends. We picked a few traditional choices for Arlene, the old favourites, really. And then we found a pregnancy journal, and some other health books, and a book for her husband that was packaged like a survival guide. It was a bit funny. When we got to the baby name books, we were engrossed for a good twenty minutes, as each of us read for ourselves, and then tried to top each other with the worst and most absurd samplings. Tara won. She showed us the name in the book, with her fingers concealing the explanation and etymology section of the entry. La-a.

"Laaaaah," giggled Arlene, making it a sheep noise.

"No, you're saying it wrong," said Tara.

"Lah-ah?" I guessed.

Tara laughed and shook her head. "Ready?" she asked, pausing for effect. "Ladasha," she deadpanned.

We all grimaced at that. The other names we'd come up with had been weird sounding, but that one took the cake. We ended up settling on the largest naming book, reasoning that as it was physically the biggest, it must contain the most names. I mean really, how else are you going to choose? They all say the same thing. We split up for a little while and browsed for ourselves. I found one of the books I was looking for and then grabbed a romance anyway, for good measure. I was tempted to look for a book about business ethics, but I figured that would be way obvious right in front of Tara. I wandered up to Amelia and gave her a pinch since she hadn't looked up from the book she was reading.

"We need to excuse ourselves soon," I said to her.

"Why, what did Tara say to you?" She's very perceptive. I paled again.

"I'll tell you because if I don't talk about it I'm going to scream, but I have other things to tell you first."

"About Bill, or Tara?" she asks.

"Everything. It might all be the same thing now. I don't know. We just need to get to step two, okay, I can't think of anything else right now," I babble.

"Step two?"

"Yes," I confirm, knowing she doesn't know what step two is.

"Alright, let's see how they're doing," she agrees. Best friends take your crazy with the rest of you.

"Thanks," I whisper. She grins at me.

We found Tara and Arlene at the magazine rack browsing through some of the new mom and pregnancy magazines. They added a few to the basket that Amelia was carrying that contained the rest of the baby things.

"Girls, I think Sookie needs to get home. I don't want to rush you or anything, but do you know how long you'll be?" Amelia asks Tara and Arlene. They each offered me a concerned little frown before agreeing that we could wrap it up. Tara, Amelia, and I split the cost of Arlene's books and then paid for all our own. This trip was being expensive. I reminded myself I was having a free hotel stay on this vacation, and convinced myself I had bigger things to worry about. Because that was a huge help. My mind reeled again for a moment before I cracked down. Focus.

Walking back to Amelia's apartment, Arlene and Tara began asking me if I was staying in town. In all the Bill bashing we had not really gotten to discussing my future plans, which kind of sucked, because I would have liked their opinions on my Bon Temps versus New Orleans dilemma. I told them without getting into it too much that I was still weighing that exact decision, and was taking the rest of the week to deliberate.

"We're just glad to have you back from the arctic north," grinned Tara. "Anywhere in Louisiana is better than Washington." Arlene nodded her agreement and I hugged both girls as we parted and promised to see each other soon.

Once we were back in Amelia's apartment, I noticed a new painting in her living room and walked over to look at it while she went to the kitchen. I could hear her grinding beans for coffee and felt grateful. When she rejoined me I started to ask who the artist was, but she interrupted me.

"Sookie cut the crap," she said. "How bad?"

"Really bad Amelia. Like, go get the notebook bad," I said forlornly. "The notebook" was an actual marble notebook that we used to document serious problems and the decisions we had to make about them. The last entry had been hers on whether or not to buy the new property. Before that, it was whether or not I should move to Seattle. It was something we'd been doing for a while, ever since boyfriend problems back at school. As we'd grown up a bit more, we'd used it less, and the dilemmas tended to be a lot weightier. It had started as simple pro/con lists, but over time we'd developed more of a system, and they now the entries read a bit like lab reports. Some people do therapy, we do this. The notebook was sacred.

Since it was my problem, she'd be taking notes. We'd been a little silly one night and declared that the problem-haver was not an objective recorder of the empirical evidence. I think maybe it had been an excuse she made up for why I was writing down her problems, but then I held her to it the next time it was my turn, and it became part of the system. She settled down next to a lamp with the notebook propped up expectantly. I didn't have to start by swearing her to absolute secrecy. That had been the second rule we made about using the notebook. Actually I think it was written on the inside cover of the first ever one we'd had. There'd been a few over the years.

"Okay, how do you want it?" I began.

"Headline first," she said. I grinned in spite of myself as I thought of Lafayette. She'd picked that up from him.

I took a deep breath trying to figure out how to word the short, short version. "Bill's jerky boss is no longer a jerk. I'm staying at the same hotel as him and Pam, by his invitation. He's in town to negotiate business with Tara's company, and she accidentally gave me a tip off about something really, really major regarding that business."

"Wow," she said. Yup, this was a doozy. "Okay, start with how he's not a jerk."

"Right, first of all, it's Eric Northman. I didn't know it when you called, but he's the grandson of Sten Northman. How do you know him?"

"Uh, only by name. Dad knows him. He also owns a lot of real estate and a bunch of hotels all over."

"I figured it was something like that. Anyway," I proceed to tell her about the meeting in the first class lounge, the hug on the flight, his temper tantrum, driving from Dallas, his convincing me to stay first the night, then the week with them, the dinner and ice cream thing non-date, and the dinner and movie through breakfast this morning. She is still scribbling furiously.

"Underline the dinner with his work people because that will be relevant to the Tara part," I mumbled, and see her nod.

"So, you like Bill's boss now," she concluded.

"I guess."

"You guess," she repeated sarcastically.

I gave an exasperated sigh. "He's gorgeous and sweet as a peach whenever he's not being a grouchy ogre, which only tends to be when he's sleep deprived or under-caffeinated. He's smart and thoughtful and he's looking out for me. Of course I freaking like him Amelia," I pause to roll my eyes at her. "But I just broke up with Bill three days ago and I didn't even properly break up, I just walked out on him, so that's not really the relevant bit. For the purpose of this dilemma, he is my friend."

"Fine. I'm making a note for later about that though."

"Fine," I say. We're not being rude to each other here, we're being honest. It's her job to ask me tough questions. I don't resent her for it at all.

"Okay, further to the Eric thing, because it's relevant to the Tara part. He is really proud of his job and the fact that he's risen really high in Area Five, or I guess any company, without drawing on his name, or his family connections. He's got a whole big thing about it."

"Male pride?" she asks. It's a common variable we've dealt with in the past.

"No, regular human pride, I think. He's earned his place, it means a lot to him."

"Alright, what's the Tara thing?" Amelia asks. I tell her exactly what Tara said to me including the bit about there possibly being hundreds and hundreds of people's jobs at stake, not just including, but especially, Tara's, Eric's, and Pam's.

"Holy shit, Sookie," she says when I finish. Her eyes are wide.

"I know," I say. "Maybe you shouldn't even write it down," I add hastily. "It could be used as evidence."

She snorted. "First rule of the notebook." She began scribbling. Yes, it was a little corny, but the first rule of the notebook was that you don't talk about the notebook. Nobody knew we kept it or used it to solve our problems. We'd shared the problem solving method with a few people over the years, but the existence of the tangible notebook was our secret.

"Do you think it's illegal?" I asked.

"I think Tara is probably the culpable one here, honestly, and I'm not sure if it's criminal or not. Crimes have to have intent right? Her only intent was to comfort a friend. Maybe civil? She probably violated some kind of contract telling company information."

"But you're not sure," I pressed.

"You didn't do anything to gain this information, and even if you choose to share it, it is not like it will do any harm to Arkansas, it would only protect Area Five from harm."

"But if it blocks the merger or the takeover, they could say that is harm. They could sue me in civil court and take Gran's house."

"Hun, you're a really small fish, I don't think Gran's house is going to console them if they lose out on a multi-million dollar acquisition, even if they were somehow able to connect it to you, which, how could they possibly."

"Well I know Peter Threadgill and his son, and their VP of finance, at least I've met them. They know exactly who I am, and that I'm connected to Eric somehow." She gives me a confused look until I clarified, "That's who we had the work dinner with. Jade, the VP, is the one who recommended I pick up that book. She's...oh my god, that's... She'll be Tara's Boss!" I just realized that just now.

Amelia let out a low whistle. "Alright, but you don't know that for sure. Ultimately, it's true, but you don't necessarily know that Jade is the one she meant when she referred to her boss specifically. She probably has one or two other superiors before Jade herself."

"Do you think I should get a lawyer?" I ask plaintively.

"I don't know."

"Do you think I should tell Eric?"

"Yes." She said it firmly and absolutely.

I gave her a long stare before asking, "Based on what?"

"If you don't tell him, and Arkansas is successful a lot of people will lose their jobs, including two people you care about. Tara told you that flat out. If you do tell, nothing happens. Morally, telling him is the right thing to do. Honestly what the hell was she thinking assuming you'd be pleased about that outcome? You've never been vindictive, least of all at the expense of others."

"But what if Area Five flips it around on them?"

"That would have nothing to do with you."

"True, and they're not planning on firing people, they made space to accommodate more employees here. I didn't know it at the time, but that's the whole reason Bill was shifted to Seattle in the first place."

"Right, so there you go. Effectively, telling Eric has no moral downside."

"Alright, I'll tell him then."

"I don't think you should tell him the source."

"No, I don't want Tara to get in any trouble over this."

"And she definitely would, if her bosses found out she'd leaked."

"Right."

"Okay, so, are you moving to Bon Temps, or are you staying here?"

"I think I'm going to do what Bill and I were doing before, only just me. Keep the Bon Temps house like a country house, but get an apartment here. The cost of keeping it is really small. I never really liked the idea of renting it anyway."

"Okay, so you need a job and an apartment. And a car," she said.

"Right." I agreed. "I think," I started, and then paused again, to make sure the thought was fully formed. "I think I'm going to go back to Bon Temps after the weekend, and have all my stuff shipped there. And then, I can do my job search while I'm home. Oh, I have to show you my new phone later. It's awesome and it has the internet on it."

"Congratulations, welcome to 2008," she says dryly. Amelia's always been an early adopter of technology. "You can stay here, if you want to stay close," she offered.

"I may take you up on that at some point, especially if I have to be up and down here for interviews, but I need to go back north for now anyway to deal with my belongings, and I'd really like to try to spend some time with Jason."

I pause and take a long, deep breath. Amelia is still scribbling away in the notebook. I wandered out into her kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee and put the kettle on so she could have a cup of tea. I stood there leaned against the counter and felt a bit better. It would be a relief to just tell Eric. He would have a lot to deal with, but I was pretty sure that he would rather have to deal with it than face the consequences of not having had the chance to. Once I heard the kettle start to go, I pulled it off the burner and called out to Amelia asking what kind of tea she wanted. Thankfully, it was only ginger peach she was requesting. She had a lot of Asian ones that would have made guess work for me, since they were all written in Japanese, or Chinese maybe. Actually, there were probably some of each in here. I shook my head and closed her fragrant tea cabinet.

Carrying her cup and mine back out I finally sat down beside her. I went down a little hard, as I was feeling drained.

"Eric said he'd suspected Bill and Lorena for a long time," I said, without turning to look at her. "I think maybe the whole time."

"Aww, Sook," she said, and leaned over to drop her head on my shoulder while she curled an arm around me.

"I keep having these moments where I wonder what I ever saw in him to begin with, but I know it just wasn't like that. I thought I loved him, but maybe I never did?"

"You did," she said. "When you two first got together, I'd never seen you so happy."

"He was so vibrant and so excited about his company, passionate, even. And then he sold it, and I think it must have been that, that started to change him."

"Money's ugly," she shrugged.

"Not always. You're not. Eric's not."

"I'm about to sound like a total snob right now, ready?" I nodded my chin into her arm, still wrapped across my shoulders. "Bill's a parvenu. A nouveau riche."

I interrupt her, "But he's cultured, and he's always been well mannered, genteel."

"Right, I'm not saying he belongs on MTV Cribs, but," she's choosing her words carefully, and I can't tell if it's because she's straining to be polite, or if he's just that hard to pin down. "He sold the company, and it made him rich. I mean, he was well off before, but now, he could conceivably never work again a day in his life, and live very comfortably, yes?"

I nod again. I'd seen the check.

"So he sold the company," she continues, "And he thinks that should put him in the caliber of the people who bought the company, but it just doesn't. I think it's that feeling of inadequacy that fucked him all up."

I sigh with a little grin as she says the last bit. Nudging her away, I lean up to take a sip of my coffee.

"I don't think we would have lasted for so much longer anyway," I say. "I think maybe...I think maybe I went to Washington to show I loved him as much as I thought I should and not...because I actually loved him that much."

"That might be true," she says.

"Does that make me a gold digger?" I ask. I'm being serious.

"What?" she laughs at me.

"Because I stayed with him even though I was falling out of love, and he has money."

"Sookie, you are not a gold digger."

"But I was living in his condo."

"For a grand total of thirty-three days, after almost two years of splitting the rent on your apartment here, at your insistence, when you were teaching twelve year olds at a parish school and he had ten million dollars in the bank and a job in his own right. And you helped pay for the move itself. And you've paid for all the work on Gran's, and the tax. You buy your own things. Your long-term boyfriend bought a home for the two of you to share together, that he could amply afford. Nothing in this scenario makes you a low down opportunist."

I sigh.

"Sookie, just no. Okay?"

"Eric is having his company pay the hotel that his family owns for my stay in a luxury suite with spa treatments."

"Did you ask him to?"

"No."

"Did you have sex with him, or hint that you would have sex with him before he issued the invitation?"

"No! Well, I don't know. I'm probably guilty of a little flirting, but he has always started it."

"Sookie, gold diggers don't lure men to their beds for a g-rated night of hand holding in exchange for a pot of coffee and some pancakes. At worst, you're guilty of sort-of-dating him."

"I couldn't date Eric Northman."

"Why?"

I didn't really have an answer. I started rubbing my eyes. I was feeling exhausted and it was only a bit after five.

"I'm sleepy," I said.

"Drink your coffee, Stackhouse," she said. She had picked up the notebook again while I sipped.

"I'm writing up Eric himself as a separate report from the Tara thing, but I'm not going to do the decision because you haven't made it, and won't, until there is more evidence, okay?"

I nod my assent. "That's fair. I don't know if it'll be resolved even. He's in Seattle now with everyone else."

"I'll add that," she says, still writing. "I think you should ask Eric about the legal stuff. I think he'd know better than us if you need to be concerned for yourself."

"That's a good idea. The only thing I'm still concerned about is if I would be liable for passing it on to him in the first place. Maybe I could ask a hypothetical first, and see if he thinks I should tell him at all?"

"I think you should really try to tell him, but if you feel like you have to clear it first, or if he tells you that you should get speak to legal counsel first after you pose your hypothetical, then do that."

"Amelia, you are so awesome," I say, meaning it. "I was freaking out so badly."

"I could tell. I think we would have needed the notebook anyway, either for Eric or where to move, though that seems to have sorted itself out. I'm actually kind of repelled by Tara at the moment."

"Yeah, I think part of my shock when she said it was that she'd even think that I'd be happy to hear that."

"I figure it must just be the atmosphere of that world," Amelia nods. "Cold, cutthroat. All of this stuff about ignoring human beings for a bottom line. You don't like to think about it, but when you see it up close, it all seems true."

"Mister Barker got fired this week," I tell her.

"Who is Mister Barker?"

"A frequenter of prostitutes, apparently. He was a math teacher at Peterson."

"I don't remember the name." She was an alumna. "Young guy?"

"Not sure. I sent them my resume."

"Good. You'd like it there, most kids are really eager to be there."

"Part of me feels like I should try to get back into the parish system, only because they need good teachers more."

"Every one needs good teachers, though." True.

"Well, I'll cross that bridge when I've got options to spare, I guess."

"This is done," she says, holding up the notebook to me. I read through the report and sign below her name, and initial the Eric page, as it is incomplete. "Do you want to take it?"

"Better keep it here until I'm settled, I think. I don't really want to take it to a hotel." Even though I've told her that, I don't give back the notebook. Instead, I'm flipping back to the entry about Seattle and rereading it. She glances over to see what I'm looking at.

"Sook, don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Second guess. You thought... I thought... that was his big commitment gesture. I was thinking of it as I would a ring."

"Thank God it wasn't," I say, feeling mortified, because she was right, that's exactly how I'd thought of it too. "I don't think we did a good enough job in the objectivity on this one. I think in hindsight that we made the call based on hope and expectations, rather than facts. We need to be more careful with that."

I realized as I was doing it that I'd fallen into our safety net. The notebook's great utility was that it allowed us to distance ourselves from the problems, even while acknowledging that they were still ours. It happens to be a lot easier to admit the truth through a surrogate. So we drew the wrong conclusion, because we let our personal feelings interfere with the interpretation of the evidence. It sounded a bit better than that I'd let hope blind me to the facts of the situation.

"I think we were both too emotionally invested," agreed Amelia. "I really wanted you to be happy, Sook."

"I will be," I smiled faintly. "Just not with Bill." I closed the book and put it in her lap. "I think I am going to go back and catch a nap. This has been an emotionally draining day."

"Yeah. Can you believe Arlene though? I don't think her marriage is going to last, but she's going to be one hell of a mother."

I laughed lightly as she said it. "I thought exactly the same."

I ordered a cab and as it drove me back to the hotel I found myself testing my mood in the same way you test a wound for tenderness, gingerly. I was a bit sad, but more for myself than because of Bill. I deemed it an improvement. It had been pretty helpful to realize that I'd fallen out of love with him at some point before all this. I didn't think any better of him for the betrayal, but it hurt a little bit less knowing that. I felt light and heavy all at once when I got back to the room and crawled up on top of the bed. I dozed for while in the darkness until my phone rang.

"Mmm?" I answered drowsily.

"Sookie," said Bill.

"Bill?" I asked, pinching reflexively at my arm and glaring over to the clock. It was after eight. That seemed about right. I was probably not dreaming. "How did you get this number?" I asked, wide awake now.

"I ran into your friend Rebecca up here, and told her I'd accidentally deleted your new number from my phone. She gave me yours from the message you sent her. She's not aware that anything is amiss between us."

"Bill, I distinctly remember asking you not to call me."

"That's not going to prove an effective means of resolving our problem."

"Which problem is that, Bill?"

"The matter of my infidelity. There will be no further indiscretions on my part. This was a one-time incident."

"I don't believe you."

"I give you my word. I have no other way of proving something did not occur."

"Your word is worth shit, Bill. You know it, and I know it."

"I can see you're still being irrational."

"Bill I'm hanging up the phone now. Do not call me again. Ever." I disconnected the call. I balled up my fists and slammed them into the mattress beside me several times. I could feel my face flushed with anger, but after a few minutes of sitting there steaming mad I realized that I hadn't cried, and that in itself made me start to calm down and feel a bit better. I stared down at my phone again and saw I'd missed calls from both Eric and Pam while I'd been napping. I dialled Pam.

"This is Pam," she answered.

"Hi Pam, it's Sookie."

"Oh, hello Sookie. Where are you?"

"In my room. I got back a bit ago and fell asleep. Are you guys still at work?"

"I'm upstairs. You can call him if you're looking for him."

"Nah, that's okay. Mind if I come up for a minute? I promised you a chat this morning."

"Alright then." She hung up on me. It must be in the air tonight.

I gave my hair a brush and changed my shirt for one that wasn't wrinkled. I grabbed her shoes and went out to the elevator and up to her room. She seemed to take a long time coming to the door when I knocked. She was annoyed with me. I held up her shoes as a peace offering when she opened the door. She took them and stepped back to let me inside. She deposited them in her closet and returned to me in the foyer.

"Pam, what you saw this morning," I began.

"Sookie, it's not my business. If I made it a point to keep track of every woman Eric has slept with, I wouldn't have time to get anything else done." Ouch.

I closed my eyes briefly. "Well, thank you for _that_," I said. "Bitchy as you were trying to be, you hit the nail on the head. We _slept_ Pam, that's all. He came down with a Kill Bill DVD and we both fell asleep on the couch before it finished."

"I fail to see why I'm supposed to care what you and Eric did or didn't do."

"You clearly do care Pam, or you wouldn't be acting so nasty with me right now, or this morning, or with Eric all day, I'm willin' ta bet." She didn't deny any part of that.

When she didn't say anything else, I had to press her. "Maybe you want to take a stab at explaining what your problem is."

Her silence continued until I threw up my hands and reached for the door, huffing out, "Fine."

Then, "Wait," she said. And I turned back to her with an expectant look.

"We are friends. Both you and Eric, and Eric and I."

I give her a nod to confirm and then let her continue.

"Eric is my concern. It is my job, and I like my job. I like him. He has wanted you. He has made it clear in the past, but you were unavailable to him. You like him too. As we are friends, I am concerned for you as well. This is the worst possible time for either of you to strike up anything. He needs to be focused on the merger, and you need to focus on unfucking your life in the absence of that tiny cocked little mouth breather you clung to for ages."

I had to give her a little grin on that one.

"Even without the extraneous circumstances, you are ultimately incompatible. Should you try and fail, which seems likely, I will be left in the middle, putting a serious strain on either my work relationship, or one of the few female friendships I've been able to maintain. I tell you now, I will choose him."

I hold up a hand to halt her. "Let me stop you there, Pam. You had it in one. I do like him, but it's not the right time," I say.

"But it hasn't stopped him," she begins again.

"He's being my friend right now Pam, and I'm letting him be my friend. Maybe a flirty, snugly friend, but _that is all_. If you're going to be pissed off at me for that, I can't stop you, but I sure wish you wouldn't be. I'm not a dummy. I've got no plans to run myself out of one mess and right into another. I wish you thought better of me than to assume that I would."

She has nothing to say to that.

"I'm going to go then. I'll see you later, when you're done playing Bitch Barbie."

With that, I leave. Hopefully that will have worked. I stretch out my arms and roll my neck while I'm waiting for the elevator. My hands are shaking a little bit with adrenaline leftover from my confrontation. I am not really made for those kind of speeches, but I'm not really sure what other approach I could have taken. I'm still feeling jittery when I get back to my room, both from Bill and from Pam. I change into my new workout clothes and put my hair up and head down to the gym, and of course, that's where I find Eric.

He's using the free weights and as incredibly tempting as it is to just stand there and watch him indefinitely, I find my voice quickly and call out hello and he catches my eye in the mirror before turning around. "Do you mind company?" I ask. "I've got energy to burn."

He shakes his head and turns back around. Okay, he is being weird again. "I talked to Pam," I tell him. "She's going to stop being a bitch now, I think."

"Good," he grunts through one of his reps.

I stretch and climb on to the elliptical machine again, program it, and go. He leaves after a while calling goodbye to me. I've got to talk to him about Tara, but this probably wasn't the venue for that anyway. I wonder if I should do it with Pam there? Maybe not. I'll leave it up to his discretion to tell her or not tell her. I'm just going to be the messenger in this. He will act as he feels appropriate with the information. I stay on for a second twenty-minute round after my first. I'm drenched again, and I wander around the room while I cool off and work the motion of the ellipses out of my stride. Feeling puckish, I lean over and kick myself up into a handstand and walk three paces forward before toppling over and decide to just lay there for a minute, all akimbo. I have had a messed up day in a whole week of messed up days. This calls for a shower.

I went upstairs and had a nice long one, and it was blissful. I felt snug as a bug in a rug after I got out and wrapped a robe around myself. I started to tend to my hair when there was a knock on the door. It proved to be Pam. She seemed to missing a bit of her usual swagger when I answered.

"Hey Pam."

"Hey," she said.

"Want to come in?" I asked, after a moment.

"No, I think I'm going to make an early night of it. I've brought you this," she says, pushing a small pastry box at me. "I didn't know if you'd eaten, but it's dessert."

I hadn't eaten, and once she'd said it, I realized that one of the many feelings still rattling around beneath the calm veneer my shower had plastered across me was indeed hunger.

"Thanks Pam," I said, taking it from her.

"Tiramisu," she offered. "It's to die for."

I gave her a smile and I think I surprised her with a one armed hug. After a moment she returned it tentatively. She smoothed her hands across her shirt to brush away any wrinkles I'd left once we broke apart.

'If you're up in the morning, you should meet us for breakfast. We'll be wrapped up all day again."

"Alright, give me a call," I say. "If I'm up I'll join, otherwise, leave me to dreamland and I'll see you tomorrow night."

"Alright then. Goodnight Sookie."

"Goodnight Pam," I return. She walks away and I close the door. I took my parcel back to the couch and fought with the bakery string until I managed to open it. The tiramisu was delicious. As apologies go, this one had been pretty good.

It was a bit after ten when I finally had my hair dry and I was torn between curling up in bed and going to face the music with Eric about the Tara thing. I decided to go ahead, reasoning that I'd sleep better with less weighing on me. I pulled on just jeans and a t-shirt, and went up in just my stockinged feet. He was in his track pants and another tee when he opened the door to let me in. I saw a similar bakery box on the table by the door.

"Didn't care for your peace offering?" I asked, giving it a nudge so he knew what I meant.

"She was out of line. She can stew for the night."

"Your loss. It was excellent," I reply. I take a deep breath to steel myself before beginning, "Eric, I need to talk to you about something important."

I turn back toward him and realize that he's right beside me and a moment later there was one hand on my shoulder and another at my jaw, his thumb nudging up at my chin, and he was kissing me. I let my eyes fall closed and returned it, my own hands coming to his chest as I leaned in to him. When his lips parted mine I didn't hesitate and my heart raced as our tongues danced and his arm fell around my back to pull me closer. It was everything a kiss should be and when I pulled away with gasp I felt my face was hot and he looked haunted.

"Eric," I breathed, stepping away. He followed my movement and I had to firm my hands against him, pushing him back as I retreated. "Eric," I repeated more firmly, maybe straining. "Not. Now. I need to talk to you and it's important."

I have no idea where my resolve was coming from, because actually, I wanted nothing more than to be kissing him again. He was really, _really_ good at it.

"It's about your work," I finally offered when the haze wasn't clearing from his eyes. That seemed to do the trick. He took a step back and shook his head, flexing his hands into fists and releasing them as he steadied himself.

"Alright?" he prompted me.

"Okay," I paused, and started up pacing away from him. "Okay, first. Hypothetically, if I happened across information pertaining to Arkansas' plans in the merger, is that something that I can legally tell you about?"

"What?" That drew any lingering trace of lust right out of him. His whole posture changed as he straightened up, now giving me the full attention of a totally different part of his mind.

"Today I learned in passing something that seems very vital and very secret. I am pretty sure that the source of the information is technically in violation of non-disclosure. I want to tell you, but I need to know if I could get in trouble. I don't know about ethical violations and things, I... can you tell if I should get a lawyer? Am I being specific enough?" I'd started out calm, but I'm half into panic mode again.

"Sookie, what's going on?"

I'm completely flustered at this point, so I give up all hope of advice about the lawyer and just start telling him that they're buying up company shares and leaning on the Area Five board members. He's giving me a look that grows more and more incredulous as I continue.

"Sookie, who told you this?"

"I'm not telling you that."

"I don't think I can act unless I validate the claim."

"Eric, I can't. Someone of my acquaintance works in their financial department. I'd totally forgotten about it, I swear to you. When they heard I'd split from Bill, they told me. It was meant to be a comfort, as in, he'd get his comeuppance once Arkansas takes over. I was told it was underway for months, but this person never said anything about their work before because I was attached to Bill and Bill is Area Five."

"Sookie, a name."

"No."

"Do you know who the boss is that's been meeting with our board members? Is it Jade?"

I shook my head. I honestly didn't know, and I told him so. He gave me a mean look before grabbing up his phone from his dining room work station.

"Pam, I need you in here," he practically barked and tossed the phone down again. He turned back to me. "Is there anything else?"

I shook my head. "No...Eric? Was I right to tell you?" I'm feeling incredibly uncertain right now, and don't make much effort to hide it behind any display of confidence. I can see his wheels turning and he is now pacing as well, clenching and unclenching his fists again, but he stops when I speak up.

"Yes," he answers. "Yes, thank you." He crosses to me and gives me shoulders a brief squeeze and he's simultaneously guiding me toward the door. It's probably designed to be a comforting gesture but it actually feels quite cold and impersonal. He holds open the door and I see Pam pacing towards us down the hall.

"Sookie, I'm going to have to say good night," he says, releasing me. He's already focused on Pam, so I step away and head towards the elevator, dismissed. She shoots me a curious look as we pass and I give a slight jerk of my head back toward Eric, hopefully communicating that he'd fill her in. The elevator is still on the floor from when I rode up. I hear Eric's door close abruptly as I step inside. I go back downstairs and sort my day's laundry out and curl up in my comfy bed with the book that Jade recommended. I fell asleep a couple hours later wondering if it would be awkward if I wrote her back to tell her how much I'd enjoyed the start.


	5. Stings and Other Things

A/N Okay. Another first for me. Um. Yeah. I hope it came out alright.

* * *

><p>I woke and dressed, and made my way down to the lobby and the small breakfast setup. I brewed myself a cup and was picking at the fruit tray when Trudy found me there and brought a message from Pam. She and Eric had left early to wrap up her part in things and she'd be leaving this afternoon to go back to Seattle, and that was it for the message. I thanked Marcia and after assuring her I needed nothing more she left me to finish my solitary breakfast.<p>

It was the first day since I'd arrived that I actually had no plan. Returning to the room I pulled out some paper and tried to make one, less for the day and more for life in general. Open the house, get my stuff. I'd need to book a flight to Seattle and back, and arrange for the packing and shipping. I would need a moving company for that. I would need a car in Bon Temps and to get back and forth from the city. I didn't exactly have the budget for anything fancy. I could find something serviceable. Maybe Jason knew of one. That would be preferred, but I could probably check the internet listings as well. With the water and electric set, the house was probably ready to move in, but for an airing. I did need a new bed. I hop up and went and pulled the sheets up as I had promised myself I would, and made a note of the brand and model of the mattress.

I spent most of the morning making notes and I actually ended up with a fairly short list of things I needed to do to make the move back here. I was having a bit of back and forth about whether or not I wanted to go back to the parish school district. I'd left my classes at the winter term break, so the interruption had been minimal. Even though I'd been assured I'd be welcome back, I felt like a flibbertigibbet with my coming and going so quickly. I sighed to myself, second guessing yet again. Would it really be terrible to be settled and boring in Bon Temps? Maybe I could marry one of Jason's buddies, and teach at my old school, and have a mess of babies, and cook Sunday dinners. It would be a good life. I found myself wishing I wanted it.

I found webpage showing all the schools in the area and bookmarked it. I'd go right down the list and send my credentials to every one. Well, most of them, anyway. Probably not the all boys Catholic schools, but the rest of them. I had started to write up a letter in the standard form, using what I'd sent to Peterson as a template when Pam phoned asking if I was free for lunch before she left. I agreed and went to meet her downstairs. I wasn't really sure if I was allowed to talk to her about what I'd told Eric last night. I honestly hoped it wouldn't come up, because I really hadn't enjoyed my glimpse into corporate intrigues. It had stressed me out considerably. I suppose this is why Eric has a whole separate businessman persona. It must be something of a wall one has to build if they deal with this kind of thing all the time.

Pam looked haggard. I assumed she hadn't gotten much beauty sleep last night. I'm sure Eric was in fine fiddle wherever he was, as well.

"I've got your itinerary here," she said, handing me a pink folder as she tucked a handful of others into her brief case. My eyebrows went up but she pressed right on. "Let's go around the corner, I need something to drink before I fly."

I followed her outside and we crossed the road and I followed in her wake as she directed us a few streets over to a quiet pub. We sat at the bar and she ordered a martini and I, a coke, and we started browsing the lunch menu. A lot of it was pretty fancy for bar food. I ordered a burger. She got onion rings and hot wings and some sort of froufrou variation of a hot roast beef sandwich. Pam was generally a member of the salad set, but I'd seen this before.

"You and Eric still having your tiff, then?" I ask her.

"No, it's forgotten. Apparently I still have you to blame for his foul mood today though."

For half a second I wonder if he told her about our kiss, wondering if that accounted for his bad mood. Maybe he regretted it? Or maybe he was annoyed I'd interrupted it for something more important? Something more important. Right. She means the Tara thing, of course.

"I'm sorry about that, Pam. I thought it was the right thing, to tell him."

"Of course it was Sookie, don't be an idiot. It's very important that we learned of this now, before any damage is actually done."

"Okay then," I say. I don't really want to talk about it. I flip open the pink folder and on top of a short stack of papers is a plane ticket. "Uh, Pam?"

She takes a long pull from her martini before answering, "Yes?"

"What itinerary?"

"For next week. I have Eric's here, and then Bill's and Lorena's, for that little excursion. With the time change I'll be back at the Seattle building before they leave for the day. I should be able to catch them. They're flying out late, late on Sunday night. Sookie, I found the best hotel for them, let me show you the pictures online," she starts fishing around for her phone, makes a few quick navigations and thrusts it at me.

I'm still a little bit hung up on having an itinerary I wasn't aware of, but I take it from her anyway. I'm looking at photos of a dingy motel room. It's all deteriorating seventies-style décor in hideous olive and burnt orange hues. "Did you get to the one with the stain?" she asks. I smirk in response, handing her phone back. I've seen enough to get the gist.

"Should be funny," I say. I don't really agree. I'm indifferent at best. It's Eric's joke, and I neither asked him nor condoned it. "Why do I need an itinerary?"

"You two are flying out of here on Sunday afternoon. Your ticket back is open ended. I'm not sure how long you are going to need to pack your things. Lorena and Bill are gone through Friday. I've got your rental car in there, and I went ahead and pulled up three movers that will pickup and ship. There's also one that will pack, if you want that. I think you just put stickers on everything and they come do it. You have a hotel room too. Just a regular room though, it's all they had. They needed a definite time, so I said three nights. If you're shorter just check out, if you're longer, you'll need to just let them know." I'm speechless.

"Why do I have a hotel?" I finally manage. I'm floored, but it's the only thing I can think of.

"Sookie, you're not sleeping in that bad."

"There's a guest room," I say, in general defiance.

"Sookie, no." She rolls her eyes at me, then gives a gasp of elation as her wings and rings arrive. She is clapping her fingertips together daintily with a big smile. She pushes the baskets toward me as if to share, and then proceeds to eat most of them herself. I flip through my paperwork. I have to appreciate Pam's thoroughness, but I'm still a little pensive.

"Pam, who do I pay for all this? Just when I check in or out?"

"What?" she asks, after swallowing hard on a mouth full of onion ring. "I booked it through corporate. It's paid for."

"Pam, I don't work there."

"Mm."

"Pam?" She's still eating, but I'm impatient.

"I fudged a little bit. I called down to my friend Tony in human resources. I don't know if you remember him from the picnic last summer? He was there with his partner and the three Asian toddlers?" I remembered. Those kids were adorable and I hadn't wanted to put them down. I gave her a nod. "Okay. So you two didn't claim your whole moving allowance. So I just got him to reopen the file and I sent him all the billing stuff."

"Wait, moving allowance?"

"Right. Area Five paid the costs of your move, but you guys didn't need all that we allotted for you, so we're just using the leftover to move you back. It's on the level, more or less. Technically it's past the deadline for turning in the receipts, but he can make exceptions at his discretion, and he did for this, so you're good."

"Um, but...Bill and I paid for the move ourselves."

She stared at me like I had two heads.

"We split it all," I continue.

"He claimed the expenses, Sookie. I don't know why he let you pay, it was being paid for." At least she has stopped eating. I can feel the fallen expression on my face. I bite at the inside of my lip.

"It's just one more reason it's good you left him."

I sighed. She's right, that's really the only way I can look at it. I try to bring myself out of it. "Just don't tell me he's had a housing allowance all along or something next," I laugh weakly.

She looks at me, her eyebrows furrowing. "Uhm?"

"What? Seriously?"

Pam gives a slight nod before turning back to the bar and rapping sharply on it to get the bartender's attention.

"Seriously?" I ask again, in total disbelief.

Once she caught the barman's eye, she held up her glass to him. "We're going to need at least three more of these, pronto."

I was reeling again, mentally, although thanks to the two martinis I was a little wobbly in my barstool as well. Pam tried a couple of times to lighten my mood but it didn't take. I thanked her for the effort, but I was feeling like a prized idiot. There was no amount of mildewed tile grout or coin operated vibrating beds at the Bungalo Chalet Inn that was going to abate that. It was petty and small. One bad night for him in exchange for two years of deception didn't seem fair. If they even stayed there. They'd probably just find the nearest Holiday Inn or something when they saw the place. I realized I want Tara to be right about bad things coming to bad people. She's not right though.

"Thanks for getting all of this squared away Pam," I tell her as I stir from my sour thoughts.

"You can owe me one. Take me to your next lunch with the sorority sisters and point out the experimenters," she grins. I give her a half-hearted laugh in return and promise that I would. I paid for our lunch and our drinks and we head back so she can drop off Eric's ticket, finish packing, and get to the airport. I bid her goodbye in the elevator. I realize only then that I might not see her for a while since they're still based in Seattle. There's still the phone, I suppose. I sure needed something else to feel gloomy about, huh?

"Keep in touch," I offer, and she just clucks at me, rolling her eyes. She's right, we've had enough of the heartfelt this trip. I'll give her a call next week if I don't hear from her before then.

I mope back to my room and checking my phone as I go. Nothing. I'm debating calling Bill to confront him about the rent and the moving expenses. It takes me three tries to get the key card to work in the door. I wander out to the balcony since I haven't been out there yet. It's lovely. There are two chaise lounges out there and I lay down on one and close my eyes to the sun. I don't know what my response would have been if I had known that the costs were covered all along. Maybe gotten a bigger place? Maybe I just would have taken all the utilities instead? Maybe I wouldn't have moved in at all. Maybe I would have kept my own place. I'd wanted to pay my own way. I was excited and proud to be able to. I had my first real job and my first real income that wasn't in the form of fistfuls of single dollars from tips from my waitressing. The ladies at my bank even stopped sneering at me. They had used to assume I was a stripper. It was a little funny since I had known a couple of girls that actually were in school. They made more money than bank tellers. Go ahead and judge, ya mean old bags. Tscha.

I'd loved the idea of he and I doing it together though. Building a life together, being a team. I knew he had more in the bank than me, literally millions more, but that hadn't seemed real to me. Day to day there'd been equality. We'd had a tiny place in Uptown. Just one bedroom and the kitchen was barely big enough to turn around, but the address was good. There was even a tiny terrace off the bedroom. It wasn't big enough to put a chair on but it was nice to throw open the doors when the weather was good. He'd built little flower boxes for me to put out there when we'd moved in. I'd planted lilies and tulips. It was sweet it had been home.

I struggle with that a bit. Right now I want to hate that tiny apartment and remember it for the bitter house of lies it apparently was, but I just can't. I was the silly girl. It had all meant so much to me. I realize now that not a single thing in our life, right down to me, had been enough for him. His - and it was most definitely his, not our - condo in Seattle is sleek and modern and cold. I'd been certain I could make us fit, make it home. As it turns out, nope.

I wanted to be able to enjoy the sun but I felt restless and useless. I called Jason.

"Hey brother, you got a minute?" I ask when he answers.

"Just a few," he answers. "The boys are just packing up a job here and we've got another to get to." He's still at work.

"Well, turns out my faerie godmother had another present up her sleeve."

"'That that Lafayette?" he asks, sounding nervous. It makes me smile a real, true smile. We'd had a serious talk about his bass-ackwards views on 'the gays' a while back. He was trying, bless his heart, but I suppose Rome wasn't built in a day.

"No Jas, not Lafayette. My friend down here did me an itinerary when she was scheduling her boss's. Bill's going to be out of town next week so I'm taking the chance to head back there and get my stuff."

"And he ain't gonna be there?" he asks warily.

"No sir, he'll be in Arkansas."

"When're you gonna be here then? I saw Mitch Jacobs down at the bar last night. Said he'd been over to tend to the well yesterday and it's lookin' fine. Porch light came on last night too."

"That's good news. It's looking like Tuesday or Wednesday maybe. I guess I don't have a lot to pack up, but I've got a few other things I want to tend to."

"You still needing to stay here then?"

"It's shaping up like I can go straight to Gran's," I pause. "I wouldn't say no to you cooking me dinner when I get in though."

"I think I could grill up some steaks," he says, thoughtful. "Maybe get some salad from the store." He means macaroni and potato and egg. Leafy greens are what food eats.

"I'm hungry already. Think you can get by this weekend and open some windows for a while?"

"Shouldn't be a problem. You talk to the asshole yet?"

"He tricked my new number out of a friend up there. He called last night but I hung up."

"Good."

"I'll keep you posted," I say. "Say hi to Crystal."

"Appreciate it, and will do."

"Love you."

"Bye Sook."

I disconnect but keep the phone cradled in my hands. I was looking forward to seeing him. Speaking of Lafayette reminds me that I need to call him and beg some help with the packing. It was probably still too early there, though. I decide it's time to stop thinking for a while so I duck inside to get a book then come back out. I followed my story with interest as the afternoon wore on. Gwyndolyn was conflicted about her brash but loyal husband and her romantic but gambling-prone French tutor. It still seemed like it could go either way. Strong hands and powerful arms versus the flowing locks and lascivious whispers. Quite the conundrum.

As the rush hour came the street noise that filtered up got too distracting and the light too dim to read by. I stood and stretched, leaning on the railing looking up and down the street. The hotel seemed to be bustling down below. I saw half a dozen cars come and go while I watched. I must be keeping odd hours, as I'd hardly seen the other guests. A car carrying Eric pulled up, and I felt mischievous as I watched him pace along the sidewalk. He seemed to be finishing a phone call. My own phone rang a moment later and for some reason I was surprised that it was him.

"Hey Sookie. I've just got back to the hotel," he opens.

"I know!" I exclaim. I watch his tiny head whip around, searching. "Look up," I tell him, and then lean out to give an exaggerated wave so he can notice me way up here. He waves back. Ha. For once he's not the tallest man in the room. Well, for a given value of room. This is probably the closest I'll ever come to seeing that scenario, regardless.

Pulling the phone back to my ear I hear him say, "You're really running with this spy thing, huh?" and it pulls me up short immediately. Yup that's me. Sookie the inadvertent corporate spy.

"Oh," I say simply, and instinctively pull back from his view and move back inside the room.

"I was joking Sookie," he says and after a pause, "I'm coming up." He hangs up and I set my phone down and go to retrieve my book and close the doors to the outside. I straighten myself out in the mirror and hastily snatch the plastic bag full of my clean undergarments off the front table and toss it unceremoniously into the bedroom just as the knock on the door comes. He is already halfway out of his tie when he walks in and take up 'his spot' on the couch again. I fold my arms around myself and lean against the wall as I watch him spread his arms out and throw his head back. About a minute has gone by when he lifts his head.

"Did I need to start with 'honey I'm home,' to get you to ask how my day was?" he asks.

"Was it horrible?" I reply quickly, biting down on my lip. I feel my forehead crease.

"It was interesting," he says, staring at me. "Come sit down." He pats the couch again.

I go and sit down next to him facing forward. I'm pretty nervous to hear about the fallout. I kind of do want to hear it, but I don't at the same time, I don't want to hear anything I oughtn't to know. It's not a position I am eager to find myself in again, hopefully ever, but let alone so soon. Yesterday was kind of terrible, for that part of it. If he's able to reassure me at all though, I want to hear it, and if I need to expect the worst, well, I better know it. He angles himself toward me and begins, "First of all, you don't need to worry about any legal problems. I met with my own lawyer this morning, and he assures me that you are clear of any wrongdoing."

I breathed a genuine sigh of relief at that.

"Secondly, when I brought the information to Sophie Ann I cited an anonymous source just as you did, so there's been no mention of you, nor your friend Tara, to anyone but Pam and myself."

I gasped. "But I didn't tell you it was Tara!" My voice went high and airy.

"You didn't," he confirmed. "But you did tell me you were having lunch with friends from your sorority, and we have their employee roster. Considering their New Orleans office is small right now it wasn't terribly difficult to match up Tara Thornton, especially given social networking. Pam found her in less than half an hour, albeit in the first place we looked."

I shook my head. It never occurred to me he could do that.

"I had to know who her boss was. It's the only way to determine which board members have been meeting with him. It's not Jade, by the way." I just stared at him, my distress written all over my face. "I'm sorry, Sookie, but you need to not worry. I have this in hand," he states with confidence.

"But why couldn't they just as easily know that I'm the source as you knew it was Tara? I mean I'm staying here."

"That's not even something that would come to Sophie Ann's attention. I've given her enough that she's not suspicious and I do not expect her to press the issue."

"What did you say?"

"I may have hinted that I spent some time with an amorous and unnamed secretary."

"And she would buy that?"

"Easily."

"Oh," I say, coming up short again. 'Easily' threw me a bit.

"So what do we have planned for this weekend?" he asks. He leans in to catch a lock of my hair between his fingers and begins to twirl them around it.

"I haven't...what, so that's it?" I ask, pulling my hair away from him.

"That's it. For you, anyway. We have some decisions to make on our end," he says, sitting back.

"And nothing's going to happen to me or to Tara," I confirm.

"Well, not to you. If ultimately we do proceed with the merger, she is likely to be downsized." I'm appalled. "She's unethical and apparently vindictive, though the latter is a lesser concern. It's a dangerous combination however. She'd get a severance package." He finishes lightly, then pauses, measuring my expression again. "This is all hypothetical, and months off besides."

I fold my hands in my lap and cross my ankles and I can feel a little frown settle on my face, and I don't bother trying to correct it. Essentially, Tara was a dead woman walking and she doesn't even know it. At the same time though, she is the one who disclosed what should have been secret. But then at the same, same time, I am the one who did such a lousy job at concealing her identity that Eric and Pam had sussed her out in twenty minutes.

"So I got my friend future-fired," I finally settle on.

"She got herself future, and hypothetically, fired," he says.

"But you benefit from her action."

"Yes, but I could never trust that she wouldn't be as loose-lipped in the future. Do you trust her with _your_ secrets?" he asks. He knows the answer to this. I don't have to say anything. He's got me here. After waiting long enough to punctuate the fact that I can't refute him he simply finishes, "So why should I?"

"It still sucks," I say. That is indeed the best I've got.

"For her, yes."

"For me too, I feel responsible."

"You shouldn't. As I recall, you said she'd known about this for months. All the while you were with Bill, and his livelihood and interests should have been considered an extension of yours, yes? But she had no compunction about her part in her company's doings then, which ultimately would have hurt you." He pauses again for a moment before finishing, "So why would you beat yourself up on her behalf now?"

"Because she's my friend," I argue.

"She's not a very good one."

I take a long moment trying to muster an argument, but I really don't have one. She's not a good friend, and that's just the way of it. It's not really his place to say that, but he's right. "Maybe not then," I allow. "But I don't need to feel pleased about my part in her misfortune."

"Future and hypothetical misfortune," he corrects.

"Yes, nor that neither," I sulk.

"May we move on?" he asks. I sit back a bit and flick my wrist to indicate he may if he wants.

He is inching back a bit closer to me again and repeats his question about weekend plans.

"Well apparently I'm travelling on Sunday," I say. Yup, I'm about to get snitty with him for doing me the favour.

"What a coincidence," he repeats, ignoring my tone. "I think we even have the same seats." He's bent his head toward me now, close enough that he's gone from my peripheral vision. I'm pretty sure if I turn to look at him directly, we will be nose to nose. I can feel him breathing in my hair and his mouth is right next to my ear when he asks, "Does that mean we get to snuggle again?"

"Maybe," I say, relaxing just a bit. "Maybe if you're being you." The man is insidious.

"I'm always me," he answers. He just kissed my neck. "You smell warm," he says.

"I was out in the sun today," I murmur. I feel warm, too.

"Alright," he says. Wait, where are you going? He's pulled away and is standing up, but he grabs my hand and pulls me up after him.

"You look great, but I need to change," he says.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Out. About. I don't know. I thought we'd go wander around the French Quarter and see what there is to see," he pauses. "Do you dance?"

"I do," I smile up at him.

"Good, then our options are wide open." That they are sir. That they are.

"I'll be back in a few minutes then. Find a sweater or something, it's supposed to cool off." I nod and he heads to leave. I notice that he's left his tie again so I grab it and hold it out for him.

"Tie!" I call out.

He turns back and gives me a wink. "I'll get it later." And he's gone. Strategic. I'm grinning while I duck into the bathroom to freshen up my makeup.

He really does take only a few minutes. He must have hurried. He's back in jeans and a white shirt and another well-tailored dark jacket. He's left his hair pulled back. Mmm. "So what are _your_ plans for the weekend," I ask, once we're headed back downstairs. "Do you have to work tomorrow?"

"I don't work on weekends," he says quickly. He seems to consider that but then amends, "Sometimes things like that dinner, or some other function, but not if I can help it. I don't 'go in on Saturdays'," he finishes.

"That's nice then," I agree. It is nice, if he gives himself a proper break every week. His work seemed pretty stressful, so it was good that he took the time to decompress. Bill didn't, a lot of the time. He was always going in on Saturdays, and sometimes Sundays too, on the weekends we stayed in town. Maybe he actually hadn't been going into work at all. I gave myself a sad little sigh, feeling my stupidity yet again. He heard it and looked at me with an odd expression. I got a bit embarrassed at the idea that he could guess what was going through my mind.

"Well, maybe we could go to the park or something tomorrow?" I offer. I don't want to linger on the subject of Bill, spoken or unspoken.

"We could do that," he agrees. His tone implies that he's acknowledging it as an option, rather than committing to the plan just yet.

He's been walking a bit too fast again, but finally seems to take notice now that the street is a little less crowded. He breaks his stride a bit so we're walking more companionably. I give him a little grin in thanks when he looks down at me. "Where would you normally be tomorrow?"

"Home," he says simply. "Maybe go to the gym or lunch, come home and read a book or watch a movie," he stops to consider, "Maybe go out for the night."

"That sounds fine too," I hedge. I don't really want to sit around for another day. I've spent enough time with my own thoughts this week. I could find something to do if he just wanted to veg out all day. "Is that what you and Pam would have done here, if she didn't have to go home early?" I ask.

"We would have flown back after work," he says. I must have made a little sound because he looks down and catches my concerned expression. He was giving up his weekend for me on top of everything else he'd already done. "But this works out better," he says quickly. "Otherwise I'd have to drive to Sea-Tac on Sunday to meet you off the plane and make sure you don't balk at the hotel or try to go back to your house before Bill's gone," he offers offhandedly. "Doing it this way saves me a trip," he grins.

"Thank you Eric," I say with feeling. I feel like I've said that often and I tell him so. "I don't even know why you're doing all this. It's so far and away beyond a casual flirt so don't even try to laugh it off," I add knowingly. I'm sure he's about to cut in with his 'ulterior motives' crap, but he's been good to me well beyond that this week. The genius plumbers were going to be resigned to second billing in my Sunday prayers. Who'd'a thunk it? Thank God for Eric Northman.

He reaches down to take my hand and give it a little squeeze and then keeps holding it. We make our way over to Bourbon Street and it's quite busy with tourists and the dinner crowd. Our conversation flows easily as there's so much to catch our attention here. Every once in a while he has to pull me into himself so we can edge around or out of the way of other pedestrians, and I find myself not minding it a bit. I'm actually slightly disappointed when he finds a restaurant for dinner. We're seated across from each other at a tiny table, and it's cosy, but not nearly as cosy as his hand on my hip and my back pulled against his chest had been when we scooted past those Floridian grandmas a few minutes ago. So we settled into talking about our upcoming weeks, and I told him my plans as far as staying in Bon Temps until I had reason to come down for interviews and then finding a place down here. He agreed it was prudent.

He was predicting he'd be swamped next week and while he offered to come by and help me pack on Monday night it was buffered by the secondary offer to just "send someone," to instead. I didn't really like the idea of him being around while I was packing up my life with Bill at all, so I was glad he didn't seem determined. I declined politely, assuring him that I could manage on my own if I had to but that I expected Lafayette to help. I told him all about Laf, and he laughed along, particularly when it came to our hijinks with Amelia back in school. I learned that the only thing he'd joined back in school was the fencing team. I joked that he should have a handicap because he was such a big target, and he said seriously that this is what had spurred him to become truly good at it, and that he still found time to practice now and again. I wondered briefly about what kind of school he'd gone to growing up that had a fencing team. Bon Temps High School barely had the budget to support girl's volleyball. We'd had a lot of bake sales.

After dinner we walked again, leaving some of the tourist crowd behind and drifting in and out of a few bars that had live music going. I'd filled my quota with my two martini lunch with Pam, so I kept getting bottled waters. He teased me that I should fill one of those huge flask things with the bendy straws, to cut down on the waste. I pointed out that business travellers have no ground to stand on when it comes to their carbon footprint and he conceded with a touché, but made a point of carrying my next empty bottle until we found a recycling bin.

We did get in a bit of dancing, and he totally surprised me by being good, even with the zydeco steps. A dark man, almost as tall as Eric, cut in on us at one point, twirling me away. Eric just laughed with a little bow as we went and then shimmied off with the other guy's partner. The other couple was much better than us and I was laughing and out of breath for trying to keep up. When the song was up he found me instantly and caught me up in his arms while I applauded the band along with the rest of the crowd. I leaned back against him, totally ignoring the fact that I was sweaty. I felt light. "I had no idea you were fun," I said, craning my neck up to look at him.

"Sometimes," he agreed, and squeezed me a bit tighter.

"Well I know I've been doing those steps since I was a kid on the playground after church, but where did you learn all that?" I asked him when we'd left the dance hall. After we'd cooled off, I was indeed getting a little too cool. I was all too grateful that he'd kept an arm wrapped around me even though I'd put my cardigan sweater back on.

"We had playgrounds," he says, but I glance at him to let him know that this explanation was unsatisfactory.

"It's true, I did grow up down here in part," he says. "But my proper instruction came a bit later in life," he admits. "Ex-girlfriend." He's not elaborating any further.

"Hm," I say.

"Hm?" he emphasizes back, challenging my response.

"Yup," I say, ignoring the unspoken rest of it. I'd been tempted to make a remark about his many ex-girlfriends. Since I'd known him through Bill, practically every time I'd seen him he'd had a different version of Escort in tow. Frankly it was no wonder, if what I'd been seeing is the kind of charm he laid down for everyone. I mean, I was smitten and a week ago I would have sworn I hated his stupid face. So, I swallowed back my snark, deciding not to ruin the moment. Someone else was going to take care of that forthwith.

I got a little jolt as someone pushed hard into Eric from behind. We'd started to wander back in the direction of the hotel. The street had been quiet, not that I was paying more than cursory attention to anything but him. I looked up and he turned around. There were three young men standing just behind us and two of them had knives, held down, flanking the third who spoke. He lifted the hem of his t-shirt to reveal a gun tucked into the front of his pants. He didn't draw it, but the threat was plain. He let his shirt fall as he took a step forward. Eric didn't turn to look at me when his arm snaked down my front and he pushed me firmly back behind him. His gaze was locked on the speaker.

"Give us your wallets," the mugger ordered.

Eric glanced back and forth between the three before nodding. He lifted his hands up carefully and told them he was taking out his wallet. He did, and he opened it wide to show them, moving very deliberately. He took out all the cash he had without looking down and held it out.

"I'm keeping my wallet," he stated. "This is all the money I have."

"Hers too," one of the knife-wielders chimed in.

I was shaking as the boy addressed me. I was sure Eric could feel it, but he kept his eyes on the leader, who reached out and took his proffered money. "Hers too," he confirmed, as he did.

"Sookie give them your money."

Hands trembling I pulled open my little wristlet, and then my wallet, and I held up all the money I had. The chimer-in snatched it away from me and stepped back.

"Count to a hundred," their leader said, and the three took off.

I still had my hand outstretched to offer my money when Eric turned around and pulled me to him. His arms went around me, and he tucked me under his chin. I could feel his head moving from side to side watching the street now, though of course we were probably safer in this moment than we'd been all evening. Those guys would not have robbed us if there was anyone else around. When he started to shush me I realized I was sobbing. He didn't release me from his hold as he fished out another handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to me, pressing my fingers closed around it. After a few more moments he asked if I was okay to walk. I nodded that I was, and he lead me quickly down the road. It was a short walk back to the hotel, made quicker by his pace. This time I didn't mind it at all.

Stuart was on the desk as we came in the lobby and seeing the state of me, coupled with the way Eric continued to clutch me too him, it was apparent that something was amiss. My mascara was probably running all over. I was fairly unconcerned about that just now.

"Is everything alright sir?" Stuart asked Eric as he moved us toward the elevators.

"Miss Stackhouse and I were just mugged coming over Canal Street," Eric replies succinctly.

Stuart is visibly startled, and begins to ask Eric if he should summon the police. With another measuring look down at me he inclines his head. "Alright," he confirms. "I'm taking Miss Stackhouse upstairs now. Bring them up to her suite when they arrive."

The night manager nods his head again and hastens to his task while Eric brings me upstairs and to my room. He's fished the key card out of my little purse and zipped it shut again, since I hadn't, after handing over my money. Once inside he leads into the powder room and begins to dampen a towel before I finally come to. I take it from him and quickly wipe at my eyes until I'm no longer streaked with Revlon, and turn to him and throw my arms around him in a very tight hug.

"Eric, oh my god," I breathe. It's the first thing I have said.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yes," I answer. I'm obviously still shaky. "Just...terrified. Eric, oh my god," I say again.

"I know. That's never happened to me before," he says.

"Me neither," I agree.

I don't bother with anything more than a perfunctory sorting of myself in the mirror. I'm splotchy and I need to properly wash my face, but that can wait, since he's still standing right here. We've just done a trade off for freakouts, I think, as he's now gone quiet. I lead him to the couch and we sit down. I take his hand in my lap and hold on to it with both of mine, and he simply lets me. We sit in quiet for twenty minutes until there is a knock on the door. This is pretty quick, it seems to me, especially for a Friday night. I get up and answer the door. Eric is still unresponsive, but it's my room anyway. I thank Stuart, who is there with two detectives. I assure him that I am fine when he asks. He wants me to let him know if there's anything else we need tonight, and then excuses himself as I invite the detectives inside.

I lead them through to the living room and one of the men turns to me to verify, "Sookie Stackhouse?" I nod. He turns back to Eric who has stood up. "And Eric Northman?" the detective continues.

"Yes," confirms Eric.

"I am Detective Bellefleur, and this is Detective Beck." Eric shakes hands with both men, and I do the same.

They invite us to sit back down, and Detective Bellefleur does as well. Detective Beck makes a brief sweep of the room, glancing back into the bedroom as well. I suppose that's routine. He remains standing as our interview begins. We recount the mugging to the two officers and Eric is able to give a very thorough description of the boys who robbed us. The only thing that I was able to supply is that nearest to me had on a white t-shirt, and both he and the third had knives, which caught Eric by surprise, as he apparently hadn't noticed that at all. Presumably he had been too distracted by the gun. It could have been the angle as well. We hadn't lost any property but for the money, which had been a total of forty-seven dollars for me, and three hundred or so, from Eric, he wasn't certain.

They asked us where we had been this evening and who we had been with, if we'd noticed anything strange earlier. We had nothing revelatory to add here. Then they began asking Eric how long he had been in town, if he was a frequent guest here, if he was certain he'd never seen the boys before. I realized at some point during this line of questioning that they were trying to determine if there was any indication that Eric had been targeted for being Eric. I suppose he was something slightly greater than the average citizen or tourist. I guess that explained their prompt appearance. In the end, they congratulated him on having the sense of mind to keep our wallets and just give them the cash they demanded. And the award for best performance under pressure during an armed robbery goes to Eric Northman, ladies and gentleman. They said that since we had no property to really recover, we probably wouldn't be hearing from them again unless they happened to apprehend our muggers. They apologized that it was unlikely, but thanked us for filing the report, and they left.

After I showed them out I went and sat back next to him again. "They were right, you know, I can't believe how calm you handled that," I offered.

"You did well too," he says. "That could have been so much worse."

"I'm beginning to feel like I'm bad luck," I say. I'm only sort of kidding.

He hugged his arm around me for a moment before giving me a little nudge to get up. "Go take a shower," he says.

"Are you going?" I ask. He shakes his head.

I retreat to the bathroom and make quick work of washing up, only turning on one of the facets and not lingering. I dried and changed into a t-shirt and my little pink shorts again. I don't have any other bed clothes. "I need one too, come on," he says. He grabs my hand and then grabs my little purse on our way out. I guess I'm sleeping over at Eric's then.

We don't really have a lot to say, so when he leads me into his room upstairs, I just get in bed while he goes off to shower. A short while later he climbs in behind me and pulls me back into him. He's still a little damp, but warm, and I don't find myself minding. I snuggle back against him and I don't say anything about the fact that he's basically cupping my breast. It's not a sexual gesture, it's comforting for both of us.

"I don't think I'm very good at dating you," he murmurs into my hair.

"Mm," I agree sleepily. "I came out better with scuffed shoes and ice cream up my nose."

I feel him smile. "I was doing pretty well up until the part with the gun," he says.

"That you were," I agree. He kisses the top of my head and we lay there in silence for a long while. I sensed him fall asleep before I did, but I wasn't long behind.

He wasn't with me when I woke up in the morning, but I heard him in the bathroom again so I figured he hadn't been up for long. I find myself feeling a lot better than I had before I went to sleep. I stretch and snuggle back down in the covers, then stretch some more. "Good morning!" I call out. This is his place, he should know to expect me wakeful when he comes out of there.

"Morning," I hear him say, muffled. He appears a moment later still in his sleep pants and tee. He climbs back into bed and pulls me in to him again. "How're you feeling?" he asks.

"Considerably better," I answer. "You?"

"Same here. It's a bit surreal, since there was no harm done."

"Yeah," I nod, stellar conversationalist that I am.

"So what are we doing today?" he asks.

"Eric, you don't have to tend to me all weekend. You can do your normal thing and I'll just find something to keep me entertained."

"Sookie, I'm having a hard time understanding why I have to convince a woman currently lying in my bed that I am interested in spending time with her."

"Ah." I suppose he may have a point.

"And as for _tending to you_," he says, and starts to rub my arm a bit, "I'm happy to, which I think I've also made clear."

"Ah," I say again. Well, there's that. I'm not sure if he means tending to me generally, or tending to my sexual needs right now. I figure it's probably a bit of both. I'm also not sure if he's completely serious on the second part, or if he's teasing me, but I figure that's also a bit of both. I've probably been silent now for too awkward a length of time, so I glance up at him. He's watching me with an amused expression, and then lifts his hand to my cheek and drops his thumb to my lower lip, pulling it from between my teeth where I had been biting it in my perplexity.

He traces across my lips again before leaning in to give me a long, slow kiss. When he breaks, I feel a bit dazed, and find myself just staring up at him. His eyes are really blue, and his hair has fallen forward a bit, and is tickling my cheeks. He smirks at me and shifts himself to move away and I sort of whimper involuntarily because I don't really want him to even if I'm not ready to just say so. Instead I raise my own hand to his neck and I pull him back to me and kiss him hotly this time so in fact it should crystal clear that whatever is happening here, it's not just him. We carry on like that, and my lips part with his, my hand at his neck creeps back so my fingertips are spread into his hair at the roots. He is cradling my head in one crooked arm and brushing up and down my side with the other, catching the hem of my shirt a little more on each pass. It's sweet and it's almost tentative, until he dips under the cotton and slides his palm up my torso, his fingers spreading to wrap around my ribs just beneath my breast. It's firm and possessive and hot as Hades.

He pulls away from me then to take me in and I see that same haze of lust in his eyes, knowing he's probably seeing it mirrored in mine. I nod at him, a tiny dip of my head. I watch him. I want him, and even if it could be a mistake, I don't care. He pulls his shirt off and lifts me to lift mine and his lips are back on mine, across my jaw, down my neck, across my clavicle. He cups my breast again, lifting it to his lips and I sigh. I shift my knee up to rest against his hip, my fingers brushing up his arm, across his back, along his shoulders and then across his cheek and through his hair as I press him toward me, arching upward.

He moves with me, rolling between my legs, switching sides, his hand running up my thigh. I want his mouth and pull him back to me and he takes care to grind himself against me as he lets himself be pulled. I clutch his shoulder and slide my palm across his chest. My fingertips brush across his nipples, circling, scraping, pinching. He groans into my mouth as he deepens his kiss. He likes that. His hand is back between my legs running up and down, pressing, pushing my warmth and my wetness back against me. He pulls away, and my head falls back. His hands are on my hips and I lift and he slides them up, and I pull my legs up and up until my shorts are off and they fall astride him again. He looks down at me, taking me in, appreciating as his eyes roam. I don't care to wait for him, I sit up, and he pulls back just long enough to shed himself of the last of his clothes before he's meeting me, holding me to him and my hand slinks down between us. I find him stiff and broad and taking him in hand I stroke. He moans against my neck, sucking, biting, and I moan too.

He lowers me to the bed again. His fingers stroke my lips, delving deeper, testing, learning me. I shiver as he finds my clit, brushing, pressing, circling. He doesn't stop, and his mouth is at my nipple, tongue swirling and teeth grazing. Two fingers dip and enter me, "Eric," I breathe, lost for anything else. I clench around him, seizing when I come, arching up, unbreathing, seeing violet as I cry out from abyss. I fall shuddering when I return and find his eyes on me and then his mouth on mine as he pushes into me. He fills me again and again with steady force, pulling me up to meet him. Soon, he doesn't need to as I find myself enough to move with him and he moans with my efforts. I reach between us to keep us apace, stroking myself and him, whenever he withdraws. When I start to crest again he groans with me, and as I shudder all around him he pulls out then pulls me to him and I feel the hot splash of his pleasure erupt between us on my belly.

He falls back taking me with him against the pillows and I can hear his heart from here. He presses his lips to my temple and leaves them there. We doze off as we come down. I'm the first to wake but find that I don't want to leave here. I run my hand lightly across his chest until he's roused. I feel him stir, but I don't know what to say to him. Thank you? Good as promised? "Hello," is what I settle for.

"Hello," he agrees.

I hide my face in his neck, all shyness. "I wasn't really expecting that," I whisper.

"Expect is not the right word, no," he says, musing. He's tracing his fingers up and down my spine.

"I'm almost afraid to ask," I say.

"Mm. Hope for maybe. Fantasize, definitely."

"That good, huh?" I grin.

"You were there," he replies.

We got up to shower together a little bit later and I hurried past the mirror, cringing at the state of myself. He had the same one up here that I had downstairs. As it turns out I liked his even better than mine.

I sneaked back to my room after that to get dressed. We decided to help the concierge self-actualize by finding us something to do for the rest of the day. I was grinning like a fool as I tried to fix my hair and put on a bit of makeup. Maybe that's what I was. I think only time would tell on that one. For today at least, I was going to be quite content. He met me at my door with a matching grin and a steamy kiss. I suppose he was feeling the same.


	6. On Cultivation

A/N Hi again. There's a lot less dialog in this chapter, I hope you do not mind too much. Again, thank you for your very encouraging reviews. I'm pleased to have the positive feedback. You can let me know if I mess up, as well. :D Just don't be too harsh about it!

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><p>We head down to the lobby to see what is in store for us. It's just before noon, and Trudy greets us with a smile as soon as we step off the elevator. I'm headed straight for the coffee and so Eric points for Trudy to meet us in the little alcove. I don't need it per se, I've had a very good morning so far, but I'm accustomed. I choose a French vanilla flavoured pod and Eric settles for something plain. I'd never get one of these Keurig things for myself. In general, they seemed faddy and unnecessarily expensive for all their component bits, if all you want is a cup of coffee. Actually, they're probably okay if all you want is <em>a<em> cup of coffee. Because that's all you get. I like to keep a pot on when I'm around the house though. The usual fruit and breakfast things are nowhere in sight. It's practically lunchtime after all.

Trudy meets us while we are sipping and she's obviously very excited. Apparently this is the weekend of an annual garden tour that's supposed to be really nice. People in Uptown open their homes, well, their gardens, just for these two days. You get to take a peek in on other people's zens. It seems like a really nice idea to me, and I turn to look up at Eric with an eager expression on my face, only to find his is strained. Trudy catches it as well and quickly changes tack. I see her shuffling through the brochures in her neat little folder before pulling up one for a cultural museum when Eric excuses himself and goes back to the main lobby.

Trudy looks panic stricken as we watch him approach an elderly couple and she quickly excuses herself as well and I see her return to the desk. What in the world? I'm left standing here sipping my coffee until Eric turns to beckon me over. At least he didn't forget about me. I pick up Eric's cup where he had left it and pace over to join the little group handing his over as I give the strangers a little smile.

"Grandfather, Fahma, This is Sookie Stackhouse," he says by way of introduction. Oh, this is Sten Northman then. Well, he owns the hotel I guess, so it's not terribly weird that he's here right now. I suppose he has to check in once and a while.

"Sookie, these are my grandparents, Sten and Inge Northman," Eric continues.

"I'm pleased to meet you," I say, and I offer each one of them a smile in turn. His grandmother takes my hand briefly and his grandfather gives me an acknowledging nod.

"Miss Stackhouse, we heard about the trouble last night and wanted to make sure you both are well," his grandmother offers with a concerned expression. He calls her Fahma. That's adorable.

"Oh!" I say. Well, that explains everything then. That's pretty sweet of them. "Yes, I think we are. I was badly shaken up, but they only took our money, and we got back here alright," I offer.

Eric agrees with a nod, "There's no harm done." Sten gives a little grunt, apparently not satisfied with that. "No lasting harm done," Eric qualifies. "It was a small price to pay for our safety," he finishes.

At this point, Inge cannot contain herself and takes the two steps toward Eric and gives him a tight hug. He drops his arms around her shoulders and begins to pat her. It goes on just a bit too long, and the other three of us have a chance to glance at each other before Sten clears his throat and presses a hand to Inge's back ready to try to coax her off their grandson. She takes the hint and pulls away.

"Stuart called last night," she says as she steps back. "Eric why didn't you call us, we would have come right over."

Eric and his grandfather exchange a glance. Somehow it seems to be communicated that that is not, in fact, the case.

"Stuart called you?" Eric questions.

"Yes. I think the police being called to one of my properties in the middle of the night merits a phone call," Sten says, in a scolding tone.

"As I said, we are fine," says Eric. "Sookie was a bit worse for wear when we got back here, but she was settled down in a few minutes."

They turn to me and I nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed now. I guess I had really been a wreck. "I was just so scared at the time, I mean I have been around guns before, my brother is a hunter, but never," I make a little gesture with my arm at nothing in particular. "Like that," I finish.

"Guns!" his grandmother repeats, and Eric huffs out a sigh. Oops. I guess he was planning on downplaying the details of our little encounter. Eric gestures over to a seating area, suggesting that we settle down so that he can provide the full explanation that is apparently now required. Sorry about that.

Eric gives the Northmans a succinct version of events, beginning with the fact that we were returning back from a dinner in the French Quarter and ending with the detectives' assurances that the matter was most likely closed. Throughout the story his grandmother had gasped and fretted and nodded and sighed. She was a lively audience.

"It sounds as though you handled yourself well," was his grandfather's only observation when the story was through.

"He did," I assure. It got me looks from all three. I'd been silent for a while, and maybe they'd forgotten I was there. They seemed surprised to hear from me again. "I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't been there," I say, with a hint of adoration in my tone. It's true though. As much as I like to think I could handle a situation like that on my own, I knew I wouldn't have had the sense of mind to hold on to my wallet and purse, and if I'd been alone on a dark street when they came up at me, well... I gave a little shudder internally. I just didn't want to think about the possibilities.

Eric gave me a little smile. I sort of sensed that maybe he would have leaned over and squeezed my hand if we were in different company, but he didn't.

"Well then," Sten says. He's got his hands pressed to his knees, ready to stand up, but his wife knocks the wind from his sails. It's clear that she hasn't seen Eric in a while. He's had practically her undivided attention.

"Eric, how long are you in town? Can you come out to the house for dinner?" she asks. Oh.

"We're flying out tomorrow actually," he says, ignoring the dinner invitation. "I've been here all week trying to sort out a few things. We've got a little business with Threadgill," he offers. Sten grunts at the sound of the name. He must not like him either.

"I wish you would have called, Eric," Inge says again. "We could have made plans for this weekend if I knew you were here. As it is, we have to be going in a minute. There's a garden tour that we have tickets for, and I really want to see Bev's new koi pond before we're over there at Easter or she won't stop going on about fish pellets and Japanese importers through the whole brunch again."

So, that's how we ended up spending the afternoon with Eric's grandparents. It was a little awkward sorting it out. I'd lit up at hearing about the tour again and told them Trudy had suggested it for us as well. Apparently Eric's grandmother knew half the people who owned the homes on the tour and had been promised to go for weeks. Sten was completely indifferent and while Eric made it clear that this was not his first choice of activities for the day, he completely caved in to his grandmother, who he had evidently not seen since Christmastime.

We took their car over to the meeting point for the tour, both to save time, and because we were, "Absolutely not," walking anywhere around here, Sten had ruled. I guess I couldn't blame him for overreacting a little, given what had happened to us last night, but it was broad daylight and we were a party of four. Eric had rolled his eyes at me before handing me into the car once Inge was settled in the front. I found myself surprised that Sten drove himself. Eric had told me that he liked to drive, but didn't have a car here anymore. I guess it runs in the family.

Sten had let us out to go and park and while Inge was chatting with several other women she seemed to know well, Eric pulled me aside.

"This is not what I planned for today," he's telling me. His voice is low so that we're not overheard.

"We didn't have anything planned for today," I reply. "They're your family. It's good that you get to see them," I assure him. I don't really mind. It's strange to have met them, especially after this morning, but since he's given them no indication about our relationship, I'm not feeling too uncomfortable. Wait, relationship? I didn't mean it like that. I'm pretty sure they have made the assumption that I'm just a business associate of Eric's, since they haven't been paying me much mind. I'm fine with that. Whatever is between he and I right now, I am not thinking any further. Maybe I will have an eff-buddy when he's in town. Amelia will be so proud of me. I've never had one of those before! She has a couple of her own. Maybe I just won't see him again. It would be a pity since he's turned out to be so nice, but I'm fully conscious of the possibility that this week was a one-shot deal. It's been nice for what it was. I'll think about it more if he brings it up.

I want to give him a little hug or something to assure him I don't mind that the dreamy afternoon that I'd envisioned in our little post-coital bubble has been replaced by a Northman family reunion. He doesn't seem too pleased with it himself. I can see that he's sort of slid into his business veneer. I don't get a chance to say anything more because Inge has pulled him away to show him off to her friends. Sten joins their group and I'm left standing aside, so I go ahead and start leafing through the pamphlet that Trudy left us with. Apparently the proceeds from this weekend's tours will be donated to one of the parks in the city. That seems like a very nice idea. There's a little blurb about how this is their fifteenth year doing it, and how it was all thought up over a lunch date. I think probably by some of the women in Inge's circle of friends, if not the ones she's showing Eric off to right now.

We set off on the walking tour, and I found myself sandwiched between the group of women who have crowded around our expert Garden Guide and Sten, who is bringing up the rear with a couple of other husbands. The women have circled around Eric. He has his grandmother on one arm and one of her friends on the other. After listening to the Garden Guide give his introduction about the tour itself we set off on the short walk to the first house, which is large and obviously well kept, without being ostentatious. The guide lets us in to the back and suddenly we are surrounded by topiary and landscaping and a riot of early spring blooms. The group thins out a bit and we are free to wander through the little paths beneath the arbours and trellises. Maintaining something like this year round must be a full-time job! Possibly more than one person's. I feel something brush against my butt, and I turn sharply, worried that I've backed into something. Eric is just behind me again, though he's turned away and apparently deep in conversation about early irises. Oh I see how it's going to be. I give him a pat in kind and raise him a lingering squeeze before I wander off.

"Have you been with Area Five for long, Miss Stackhouse?" We're walking along to the next garden and Sten has come up beside me. I pause for a brief moment because I am not sure how I'm expected to answer this question. I hadn't been introduced to them with any credentials, and the truth of the entire matter was just too wacky for small talk. I glance up to look for Eric for a cue, but he's apparently been aware of me, and jumps right in before I can truly panic.

"Sookie has been doing some consulting work for us while she is here this week," he offers easily. "But in her real life, she teaches math," he smiles. For some reason the fact that I'm a teacher has always amused the heck out of both him and Pam. What exactly is wrong with being a school teacher? I love it.

"Oh really?" Sten asks with polite interest.

"Yes sir," I answer. "I was teaching with the Parish for a couple of years and then tutoring privately," I offer. More of these vague details. I am getting a handle on this evasiveness thing. Not sure that's good in general.

"She's just in the process of resettling down here," Eric steers. "She's got a house outside of Shreveport, but is set to make her base here in town."

"That's a lovely area, Shreveport," one of the ladies interjects. "We have a house up there and we don't get up there enough!"

The bubbly woman, who introduces herself to me as Patti, takes my arm and sweeps me up in conversation about the greater Shreveport area. She reminds me a little bit of my Gran's friends, the kind ones, who are delighted to talk with any 'young person'. Patti is my amicable companion for the next two houses and we compare our own gardening notes. I realize I'm getting kind of excited to plant this year, and resolve to start sprucing up our flowerbeds once I'm back in Bon Temps this week. Bill and I had let them go by the wayside last year. I just hadn't felt up to it, since Gran's gardens were always _her_ thing. I really missed her. I got another brush through my hair as Eric passed by me with Sten, but it would have been too obvious if I tried retaliating right then.

"Bev's new koi pond," as it turns out, was the focal point of an amazingly beautiful Japanese-style water garden that seemed to comprise the whole backyard of what was otherwise a characteristic Victorian home in the neighbourhood. I was awed. Our expert Garden Guide was waxing on about the Sakuteiki and how its aesthetic principles were incorporated here. Essentially it's _the_ traditional Japanese gardening manual, which was interesting to learn. He kept saying the name along with some other terms as he pointed out various features with what I'm assuming was the correct pronunciation. Since in general he had the same southern lilt as me and most of the rest of us, I couldn't help but grow more amused every time he did it. Inge was chatting to the house's owner along with Sten and another couple and Eric came up beside me.

"I've declined the invitation to dinner," he says. "This is more than enough."

I frown a little bit at that because it's been so obvious that Inge's enjoying having Eric around today. I offer to find my own meal and meet up with him for a movie or something later on, but he's firm about not drawing his time with his family out. I kind of want to hit him since I've been thinking about my own grandmother all afternoon and how much she would have enjoyed all this, and how much I would have enjoyed seeing her pleasure with it. It's clear he's not all that close with his family, and that it's by his choice. I want to ask what that's about, but it's probably not my business. I find I'd been chewing on my lip again when Eric steps in front of me to shield me from the rest of the group and then pulls it back with his thumb again, tracing across it.

I'm at a loss for what to say so I simply turn away and set my gaze on a passel of water lilies and comment about it being beautiful here, and he agrees. The last stop on our tour brings us to a French formal garden planted with joyful swirls of spring blooms and low labyrinthine hedges in symmetric paths. Sten and Eric have had their fill and are standing up on the patio while the rest of the group meanders among the impeccably neat flowerbeds. Inge comes up beside me and links my arm with hers, placing her other hand over it.

"I have to thank you," she says, and I'm surprised, since I've done nothing that would merit her thanks. "I really never get him for an afternoon like this." She glances over to Eric and Sten for a moment.

"Oh, I'm just glad you didn't mind me tagging along," I say.

"No, I think he would have made his excuses at the hotel if not for you," she presses.

"It's been lovely, I wish I had the time to devote to something like this," I sweep my hand. "Every one has been just amazing. It must take years," I finish.

"Yes, it is a project for a lifetime," she agrees. "Now, Eric tells me you are just moving back to New Orleans?"

I smile at this. I had the impression earlier that Sten was trying to get a bead on me when he'd sidled up before, so I suppose they've traded off. I find it cute. "Yes," I answer. "It's still a bit up in the air as to the when. I've yet to secure a position down here."

"And you're a teacher?" she tries to confirm.

"Yes. And since most of the schools won't be hiring before the fall, I'm not sure how quickly I'll get settled back here, but this is where I want to be. I'll enjoy tending to the gardens at my grandmother's old place in the meantime though, after all this," I wave my hand to indicate the sprawling garden as we walk, and the afternoon in general.

"I do love New Orleans," she agrees. "We've been here for thirty years."

"I love it, I moved down for school and stayed when I finished."

"That can't have been too long ago. Where is it you're moving back from now?" And here it is, the direct line of questioning.

"Seattle," I say.

"Oh, with Eric's team?" Her tone is all innocuous.

"As an adjunct to the team, I think. My former..." I trail off. "It's a bit recent, Mrs. Northman," I apologize. "Your grandson sort of landed with me by coincidence this week. He's just been the kindest friend I could ask for through the whole thing." Okay, we'll just drop the whole pretence that I'm a business contact. While we're at it, we'll give this woman my whole life's story. What is it with little old ladies and their subtle, precision information gathering? Does this super-power kick in at menopause? Gran was pretty good for this too.

"Hmm," she muses. "Well, this is the right city for a fresh start," she concludes.

"I certainly hope it is," I agree. I think I'm out of the deep end now. She guides us back to the patio where the rest of the tour group has gathered and drops my arm in favour of Sten's. We chat for a few minutes about the charity, and then Eric offers himself and me to go and fetch the car. We're only a short walk back from our starting point, but I can see that Inge, at least, is starting to look a bit weary. They gratefully agreed and as soon as we had rounded the corner Eric's hand found the small of my back and he pulled me to a quick kiss.

"I'm afraid I told my grandmother about your entire situation," he confesses immediately. "I'm sorry."

I burst out laughing. "She got me too," I admit. "Somewhat, anyway. I hinted at Bill and that you'd just got stuck with me by chance this week."

"She was curious about who you were," he says. "You may have picked up on the fact that I don't see them often."

"I don't see why though," I respond without a care. "They were lovely."

He doesn't answer that though, and we walk the rest of the way to the car in quiet. Eric excuses us once we'd brought their car back to them, telling them we'd stay in the area to find a bite to eat. His grandmother took care to warn us to take a car back to the hotel in case we found ourselves out after dark again, and he assured her that we would while rolling his eyes at me over her head as he hugged her goodbye. I shook hands with both of them and they told me they'd been pleased to meet me.

"Where to now, Mister Northman?" I asked, once they'd pulled away.

"Is it too early for bed?" he's grinning.

Apparently it wasn't. We got a taxi back to the hotel and I found myself out of my dress practically before his door closed. We stood, stripping each other off, and lavishing kisses and caresses on each inch of skin as it appeared until he scooped me up and carried me to his bed. The maids had been in. Who knows what they thought of the mess we'd left. I didn't care. As he set me down I reached for him, pulling him down with me. More so than this morning it was gradual and unhurried. He stroked and licked at my breasts until it was nearly maddening and I found myself pressing my own thighs together and rolling my hips until I rose and fell from that alone. He bent to kiss me as I shivered, whispering compliments, soothing me.

He made his way down my body at the same worshipful pace and parted my legs, tasting me. I came again before he moved to enter me, and when he did he pulled me up across his knees, holding my chest to his with one arm tight around my back and holding my mouth to his with the other at my throat and in my hair. He kept his thrusts steady, lifting me and every impulse in me screamed that this should be frantic but he refused, holding me tighter as I strained to push him faster. When I broke again I found myself wrapped around his neck and panting and felt him finally buck and jolt beneath me as he finished with a groan. He laid me down again and broke away with his arms outstretched, one still cradling my head, the other flung to his opposite side. He was breathing heavily and it hadn't been from the pace.

It had seemed like making love, but it wasn't. I wasn't sure what that just was, but it hadn't exactly felt like fucking. I clapped my hand across my mouth as shocked with myself as though I'd said that out loud, and then started giggling. I really and truly couldn't help it. He lifted his head to look over at me, and some of his hair had fallen across his nose and he didn't seem to notice it. I laughed harder and he finally smiled back. I leaned over to tuck his hair away and he caught my arm, pulling me back against his chest.

"What's funny?" he asked.

"Me," I grin against him. "I'm ashamed to admit I have dirty thoughts about you."

"I encourage you to tell me about that sometime."

"Of course not!" I object, "It was private."

For some reason that has him laughing now and I lift my head to look at him. "What?"

"I just can't even imagine what you consider private when," and here he brings his hand between my legs and strokes two fingers through my lips. I shiver. "_This_ is how I've left you," he finishes, and then draws his hand up again, tasting his own fingers. Oh. God. I'm sort of mesmerized, and then he offers them to me. I take them in my mouth and run my tongue across them, drawing at them. He pulls them away. "Shower?" he asks. I nod.

Once we were clean I was standing naked in front of his mirror and drying my hair with a towel. I was feeling pretty happy. I've had a _lot_ of sex today, and it had all been top notch. Also, there had been all sorts of beautiful flowers and the fish pond. He'd found clothes again and turned up in the doorway. He was watching me with his amused grin again when I looked over.

"Yes?" I ask.

He brings my dress and underwear over and sets them on the counter. He's even folded them neatly into a little pile. Aw. "I'd figured you to be more modest," he says, gesturing at me.

"I am modest," I reply. I see his hairbrush on the counter and point to it. "May I?"

He nods. I brush out my hair quickly and then start to dress. He continues to watch me until I'm all straightened out. "What?" I ask finally when it's clear from his staring that he's got something on his mind.

"You seem very comfortable, with yourself."

I give a little laugh, "Is that a bad thing?" I ask.

"No. Maybe atypical."

"Atypical? Cause I don't rush to cover up right away after you've had your penis in me?" Hee. I've shocked him with my sassy mouth. I can see it on his face.

"Not atypical. Well yes, but not with a negative connotation to it. A lot of women do just that, rush to cover up."

I shrug. I'd be a seriously discontented person if I were too worried about what a lot of other women do. "I am, just... comfortable. That's the right word. It took me a long time to get comfortable, and be comfortable when it's appropriate, and now, I just am. Sorry if it bugs you," I finish, sounding a little annoyed at the end.

"It doesn't," he assures me. "I like you naked. I like you in these," he lifts the hem of my dress and I swish it away from him with a twist of my hips. "I was just making an observation."

"Okay," I say. I don't really want to dwell on this. "I'm really hungry," I say. Ideally, we will order in, but I don't know if he wants to go out. "Also, I need to make a phone call," I remember suddenly that I need to call Lafayette.

"Can we just order room service?" he asks. I smile. "Not that I have anything about being out now, but I don't really feel like going out tonight." I grin a bit more at that. I plan to be extra wary on darkened streets myself from now on, but it's not going to keep me in either. Tonight though, I want to be in as well. We are on the exact same page.

"That sounds great." We go out and I grab my phone and then step out onto his balcony, asking him to just pick something for me.

"Hi Laf," I say when he answers. "Busy?"

"Jus gettin' this already _gorg_eous ass a little more prettied up, why?"

"Well, I have a plan. I'm getting in tomorrow night and I'm staying at a hotel. Monday, and if I need it Tuesday, I'm packing up."

"So that's it, you're homeward bound for sure?"

"For sure. There's been some other stuff come up. There's no chance for reconciliation."

"You gun' tell me?"

"Yes, though I was hoping maybe I could do it over dinner and a bottle of wine on Monday night? And then when you're all liquored up, I can convince you to help me with the heavy stuff on Tuesday, if you're free?"

"I'm free," he says. "What kind of other stuff?"

"I'm honest to God embarrassed I didn't see it's been lies all along," I sigh. I swear, I was on cloud nine just a couple of seconds ago.

"He only showed you what he wanted you to see," he comforts.

"And that's all I looked at," I say.

"Well don't you worry yo'self 'bout him no mo' sweet thang," he says, and pauses before continuing. I can hear him moving around. He's getting ready to go out for the night. "He gon' be there watchin' while I'm helpin' you pack? I'll wear my extra sho't sho'ts cause I know he likes 'em."

I give a faint little laugh at that. Bill does not like Lafayette's short shorts _at all_. "He'll be out of town, which is why I'm coming so soon. Eric is making him go on a business trip all week so I can pack up."

"That was nice of Eric," he says.

"It was," I agree. He put a little emphasis on Eric's name, and I'm not biting. He knows it, too.

"Alright then Miss Just Be That Way. I got all the men waitin' on me, so I'll see you Monday Night to be wined and dined," he says.

"Okay, I'll see you Monday, hun. Love you."

"Love you too."

I hang up and go inside to find Eric stretched out on the couch flipping through the channels on television. I tuck myself in beside him and suggest he find a movie for us to watch when dinner arrives, if he doesn't mind eating on the couch, that is. He says he'll make an exception for tonight. I'm not sure if he is being sarcastic or not, but when dinner finally does arrive, he just brings the tray over to the coffee table and slides the whole thing over for us. He's ordered me a club sandwich with French fries and a salad and when I hold the salad up in mock indignation he assures me that he was only trying to hit all the food groups. I eat everything, including the strawberry shortcake he got me for dessert. That was his 'fruit'. After we finished, I stretched out next to him and he amused himself by wrapping his arm around me and rubbing my very full tummy. I teased him not to get any ideas. I've been on the shot for years now anyway, so it's not happening. Bill and I weren't ready for kids. That's how we fell asleep.

I woke up feeling cosy, despite sleeping on the couch. They were pretty comfortable. I wonder if they picked them thinking they could be slept on. Eric was still curled around me, and while I didn't want to get up and move, I sort of had to. I carefully disentangled myself from him and went to the bathroom, picking up the towels that he'd left strewn across the bedroom floor along the way. When I was through I returned to find that he'd still not woken up and so I stood there for a few minutes wondering how to manoeuvre myself back in beside him without disturbing him. Deciding it was impossible, I reached the only logical conclusion that a woman can come to in this situation. Wake Eric up with oral sex.

He was half erect when I inched his sleep pants down, and I felt him grow in my hand as I licked and sucked and nibbled him into consciousness. He didn't say anything when he finally did wake up, but once I felt his hand in my hair I let my lips slide down his length and my ministrations took on a more deliberate rhythm. "I'm...ah...going..." was all he breathed out before his hand balled into a fist around the roots of my hair and he thrust forward as he came. I pulled away slowly, swallowing, and letting my tongue swirl around him as I withdrew. I licked at my own lips while I tucked him back in. "Get up here," he said, and I crawled back on to the couch with him and he kissed me. He hugged me closed to him and stroked across my back lazily. I didn't feel compelled to say anything. He'd had a treat. He'd deserved it.

Finally a little more awake he offered, "Good morning to you, too."

I smirked. "I need to get up actually now," I say, squirming a bit in his arms.

"No you don't."

"I need to go pack," I say. I'm not sure why. I don't actually want to leave yet. Gee, that was a little profound, wasn't it? I don't want to leave this couch and I don't want to go back to Seattle, but it was winding down very rapidly. We had a few hours yet before we had to be at the airport, but that was all.

He grumbled about it, but he released me. He didn't get up as well, so I leaned down to kiss him once more and then left. When I got back to my suite I realized that my things had spread out quite a bit. I started gathering everything up from around the rooms and tossing it all on to the bed. I grabbed my new little suitcase and packed everything away, except for the trousers, blouse, and shoes I meant to wear on the flight. I sorted out all of the little laundry bags and threw away all the plastic. I found a tie and a handkerchief of Eric's. The latter hadn't been laundered, so I packed it. I folded the tie and set it aside with my itinerary and the few other things that were going into my big purse, which I intended to use as a carry on again. Actually, this little suitcase could probably be carried on too.

When everything was more or less packed I decided to make a final visit into the shower. I took an extra long time again, pampering myself, savouring it. I've got to see about getting one of these for myself. I dried my hair thoroughly and did my makeup, and then I dressed and set my bag by the door and did a final once over through the room. I took up the book of Jade's suggestion and began to read until it was time to go. I wasn't feeling in the mood for a romance.

He knocked on my door when it was time for us to leave. He had his garment bag again, along with his briefcase. He was wearing a suit. I smiled at that a little. For some reason I was just of the belief that you should dress nicely when you travel. You never know who you will meet. I certainly feel like I'd proved my own point this week. We're a bit subdued on the way to the airport. I'm sure it's partially because our magical week or weekend is over, and partially because going to the airport in general is an ordeal, and then of course there's the fact that neither of us is thrilled about our destination. I for obvious reasons, and he because he's gearing up for a terrible week, work-wise.

We get through security with no issues and proceed to the lounge as we still have some time before our flight. He gets me a gin and tonic and it makes me smile that he remembers my preference. I drink it down because I can still get a little nervous flying, when I'm not otherwise distracted by an emotional breakdown. We don't really settle back into what I'd already started to consider 'normal' until we've boarded the plane and he puts up the armrest between us to tug me toward him. He reminds me that I promised to snuggle.

"I don't recall I promised," I say, even as I lean against him.

"But I am on my best behaviour," he argues.

"Hmm," I sound, and furrow my brow a bit to indicate I'm mulling it over. "Not sure I would call _this_ your best, but since we're in a public place, I'll take it for now." He's smirking. I can _feel_ him smirking. He nuzzles into my hair a bit.

A bit later, once the captain has turned off the seatbelt sign, and I've got my arm curled around his chest again, he goes ahead and raises the subject we've been ignoring. "When do you think you'll be done at the condo?"

"I'm thinking I'll get all the little stuff packed up tomorrow, and finish anything heavier on Tuesday. I've got a lot of books that are going to need hauling, and Laf will help me out."

"I didn't realize trashy paperbacks were that heavy," he says. Oh pfft. I tickle up his side causing him to squirm.

"Real books. I give romances to the library when I'm done with them," I say.

"So you'll be done by Wednesday," he concludes.

"Hopefully," I agree. "I can have the movers come on Wednesday to take everything away."

"And then you will leave," he says.

"Then I will go home," I agree.

"Maybe we can have dinner on Tuesday," he suggests. Okay, I smile at that a bit. I haven't said anything about the expiration date on this little tryst. It's sort of felt implied. I had pretty much figured I'd be saying goodbye for indefinitely today.

"Sure, if you can."

"Good then."

The rest of the flight was uneventful. We chatted about Seattle in general and did the obligatory making-fun of the crummy weather. I had my coat with me again, it would be the first time in a week I'd really need it. We teased and joked and nuzzled and maybe made out a little bit. Just a little though. We had another keen flight attendant who was eager with the ginger ale refills. When we arrived and headed down to the baggage and pickup area I got caught up short when I saw the driver holding up a sign for Northman. I'd just assumed that I would give him a ride home, since I had a rental car booked. We said a hasty goodbye and I got a quick peck and then he was gone. I pulled my bags over to the rental desk and sorted out my car.

I checked the little map that Pam had included for me, but it wasn't really necessary. The hotel was not too far from the condo and I would have no problem finding it. The weather was doing a great job to match my dreary mood as I drove. Overcast and threatening to rain. That about covered it. I reminded myself that I was setting off to do what needed to be done. And that this was the first day of the rest of my life. Also that I was a strong and independent woman who could definitely handle this. I finally had to let myself go a bit numb. I'd been getting too depressed again. I didn't start to buck up until I switched on the radio and heard Beyonce's Single Ladies. I sang along. I took it as a sign. I hadn't gotten to church this morning, but I had taken a few quiet moments to reflect.

Maybe my faith seems corny to some people. I'm educated, I've heard the arguments. It was how I'd been raised up though, and as an adult it was a fundamental comfort. I'd thanked God for my blessings, which in spite of my trials, still seemed many. Eric and Pam, Amelia and Lafayette. The kindness of friends and also of strangers. I thanked God for the strength I found and the strength I was able to borrow, and for the comfort I'd received. In return, he sent me the boost I needed to make it through the next leg of my journey, courtesy of a silly song. It worked to get me through checking into the hotel. I parked in the underground lot and was met by a polite woman at the desk. She had a nametag on, but she didn't introduce herself. She checked me in and confirmed I would be departing on Wednesday. I nodded to her that this was the plan.

My room was just a room. Neat and tidy but far from sumptuous. They have a laundry service but I'm not going to bother. I could just do everything at the condo tomorrow. I contact the first moving company on Pam's list and made arrangements to meet them on Wednesday morning at the condo, and to pick up boxes and packing supplies in the morning. I called Lafayette and Jason to let them know I'd gotten in okay. Neither was answering, so I sent texts. I sat in the small chair next to the window which couldn't be opened and started composing emails to the few contacts I'd made in town, letting them know that I'd be relocating to Louisiana once again. I didn't bother with any long explanations. At best, I'd be deemed impetuous, if I were deemed at all. At worst, I'm sure I came off flighty, capricious. Adding even the most neutral details of my story wouldn't do much to change any of these opinions. Maybe it would colour thoughts with a bit of pity, but I didn't care for their pity or their bad opinions anyway.

That's how I spent the rest of the afternoon and the evening, closing things out. I'd have to go to the post office again and file another change of address. I'd have to contact my bank and credit card and my few other accounts in the morning. There was only so much I could do on a Sunday evening. I found myself wishing that I could go ahead over to the condo and just get started. As if on cue, my phone buzzed with a text from Pam.

Sent by Pam - 6:13 p.m. I assume you have arrived. B and L flying at 10. Stay put til tomorrow.

I guess she'd heard from Eric to know we'd arrived okay. I wonder if he'll hint at what happened between us. I'm sort of hoping not, since the idea seemed to upset her so much. I don't have the impression that they gab about their love-lives or anything, but she was bold enough to ask him flat out on something like this. I don't really want to deal with her being annoyed with me. Despite what she believes, it has nothing to do with her. I don't intend on putting her 'in the middle' of anything. I'm fond of her, for all her brusqueness. I reply to her text that I got in just fine and promised not to go over early.

My phone chimed and I saw it was an email from Jade. I was a little surprised, but pleasantly so. I had ended up shooting off a quick email to thank her for supplying the book list after all, and telling her I was off to a great start. Her reply told me that she was glad I was enjoying and gave a couple of other suggested readings. My impulse was to write back right away and tell her that I'd finished the one on the plane and I'd loved it and would definitely be working down the rest of her list, but I caught myself. I was more than a little wary about striking up a friendship with her. In the first place, I'd apparently thrown my hat in with the Area Five people and she was, after all, a corporate rival. In the second, I was still prickling with guilt about what seemed to be in store for Tara. I didn't want to add to it, nor put myself in a position again where I knew another secret I felt pressured or conflicted about divulging.

I went out for a walk and found something to eat. I hadn't eaten all day but I wasn't particularly hungry. It was just something to fill the time. I made it until nine o'clock, dithering about until I fell asleep with the television on. I didn't sleep well, waking up a few times with that unsettled, uneasy feeling that follows a nightmare. I couldn't remember what I had been dreaming of though. When it happened again around six I decided that was it, and I got up. I brought my little suitcase full of dirty laundry down to the rental car with me and headed over to the, _to Bill's_, condo.

I don't know what I was expecting when I unlocked the door to the place I'd tentatively considered home. What I met was only the familiar smell that was his and mine combined. I walked through, flipping on lights. I went straight to the bedroom. I knew they weren't there, but I had to check. I stood in the doorway and had flashes back to what I'd walked in on a week ago I started to shudder at my thoughts but then I stopped myself. I went ahead and whipped my grandmother's pillowcases off the bed and left the rest. I'd bought the new bedding, but I sure as heck didn't want it now. I carried them through to the kitchen and filled the sink with cold water to wash them in. The tiny laundry room is back behind the pantry.

It's as I left it a week ago, right down to the load of his trousers still left in the drier. Well they're completely wrinkled now and it's not my problem. I scoop them out and carry them back to the bedroom where I toss them on to the bed. I don't even consider folding them. I sort through the hamper and find a few of my things mixed in with his. His dirty ones go flying to land on the bed right on top of his clean ones as I'm picking through. I carry my own clothes back and get the first load started. For all the lists and plans I've made this week, tackling how I intend to clean out the house was not one of them. Since I'm just right here though, I go ahead and start in the kitchen. I clear off the table and decide to bring down everything that's mine and leave it there to be packed up.

I'm amused when I find a carton of milk in the fridge. That, along with the various containers of leftover takeout food that he's been eating this week will have spoiled by the time he gets home in five days. I've half a mind to just leave the door wide open. Maybe I will right before I leave. No sense in assaulting my own nose for the next two days. Bill had always been fine with leaving the domestic things to me. He might be a genius with software development, but it never occurs to him to empty the fridge of things that will spoil or...yick. I've just opened the cabinet under the sink and the garbage can is still full. Really Bill? Well, you can just enjoy coming home to that aroma as well.

My grandmother's china was still on display in the cabinet in Bon Temps. He didn't care for the pattern. It wasn't really my preference either, so we left it there. I had brought her silverware up with us and I strained to lift the heavy chest down from its high cabinet. The coffee pot had been a birthday present from him, but that still made it mine, and I liked it, so I set it on the table with the other to-pack items. I had a lot of little tools, some antique and some I'd just been picking up myself for the last couple of years. There was also the crockpot, which we used once a week, and which I knew he loved, but too darn bad, it was coming home with me. Amelia and I bought ours at the same time after school, when we were first living in our own respective new places.

The table was pretty full by the time I was done, and I went ahead and started making a list in the phone for all the things that I wasn't taking and would probably need to replace. I also pulled out a few dry groceries of mine, things he wouldn't eat. It would save me a trip to the store. I changed the laundry out and phoned the moving company, who were now open, so I went ahead and drove over to get my packing supplies. I ended up with way more boxes than I could possibly fill. I could return them or just take them with me. I'd find a use for them. They're useful, boxes.

Actually packing things turned out to be a lot more time consuming than merely pulling them off the shelves, but by mid morning the kitchen was clear, the boxes neatly labelled "KITCHEN" on all sides, and they were stacked up next to the front door. I went for the bedroom next, and I went with determination. The first thing I did was pack a suitcase full of all my favourite things. This would be travelling with me on the plane. I packed the rest of my things into boxes, clearing out my half of the dresser and all of the things hanging in the closet, along with my shoes. When I looked back at his things hanging in the closet, I decided that yes, I did want my padded hangers. I just let his suits and dress shirts fall to the floor, as though the hangers had never been there. They were all still neatly ordered, blue and white and black and grey, with the colours on the end...just...a bit closer to eye level for the worm. Okay, maybe that was a little petty. But now they're already down there.

The bathroom was quick as well, and I took out my own products and appliances and had that box packed and sealed in just a few minutes. I'd thrown the few odds and ends from my nightstand in there as well. That was it for the bathroom and bedroom, except for my full length mirror. I made slow work of hauling it all back out into the entryway. I plopped myself down to take a breather. I'd been surprised to find no evidence of Lorena back there. I guess I had assumed he would go ahead and move her in, or that I'd at least find some indication of her presence here. I'd mentally prepared myself for it. There was nothing though. All for the best. Just because I had convinced myself I could deal with it didn't mean I wanted to have to.

The guest bedroom took me the rest of the afternoon. Most of the things we had kept from Gran had ended up in here, along with a small bookcase full of my books. As I carefully packed the many tchotchkes I thought quite a lot about childhood things. Most of this was stuff I had known when I was very small, but which had been packed away when Jason and I came to live with Gran, then slowly emerged again over the years as we grew old enough to be trusted to not break things. Then there were the pieces of Jason and I growing up. The first baseball that Jason ever hit for a home run was propped on a stand inside a little glass box, the same as if it were one signed by Mickey Mantel. I think I'd give that to him when I got back. He'd get a real kick out of it.

There was a picture of my parents, which had always sat on my bedside table. It was mixed in with the many more pictures of his own family on the antique dressing table which had also been my grandmother's. The furniture was all too heavy to move by myself tonight, but I planned to simply take what of his things remained and arrange them on the floor back in their same positions. I was liking the idea of him coming home to find my things just gone, like they'd never been there at all. No disarray, just everything which was me, vanished. Only for the sake of this poetic justice, I went back to the bedroom and pulled his dirty clothes back off the pile on the bed and shoved them back in the hamper. Then I tossed the clean things back in the drier where I'd found them.

It was getting late and I was tired, so I grabbed a nice bottle of wine and opened it to breathe and called in a massive order of soul food from a little restaurant that Lafayette had shown me when I'd moved out here. I drove to pick it up and by the time I was back, I had barely unpacked it when I heard a knock on the door. I checked the peephole to make sure it was him, and let Lafayette inside.

He hugged me but was quickly distracted as he drew in a deep breath, smelling the air. "Girl, you brought me back home foods?" he said excitedly.

"I picked up the closest thing to on this coast, I hope you don't mind it," I say.

He scoffs at me, and then playfully nudges me aside as he sashays past me down the corridor made narrower by the boxes piled against one wall, and into the kitchen. I've set the table with Bill's dishes, as mine are now packed. I managed a pretty nice spread of fried chicken, green beans, stewed okra, catfish fingers, and of course, cornbread. There was pecan pie for dessert. I'll bring it out later.

"How heavy is that furniture you want me to move?" he asks sceptically, looking over the table.

I laugh at that. "It's not so bad I couldn't manage if I had to, but I'll appreciate the help."

"Baby girl, I have cancelled a class just for you," he says, and immediately I feel terrible. He's teaching an intro-level course this semester while he continues his post-grad work. It's his first formal teaching job beyond the tutoring and the writing centre. "And before you interrupt," he continues, cutting me off before I start, "They've got a test next week, so we're just calling it a study day." Well, alright then.

He sits down and pours himself a bottle of wine, and I wait to see where he wants me to start, conversationally. It's Bill. So, I tell him all about the housing allowance that's apparently been a part of his salary all along, and then the moving allowance, and the fact that he tricked my new phone number out of Rebecca. This is a lesser point, but Lafayette does not like her at all and so he takes considerable umbrage at what is, in his opinion, her characteristic thoughtlessness. I just laugh at this, because I know he knows he's being over-the-top about it on purpose. She had no reason to suspect Bill. I hadn't handed out any warnings or details when I gave out my new number. We had dinner all together once, and she spilled soda on him, and wasn't "sorry enough" about it. That's her big crime, in his eyes.

"And since thinking it over," I continue, steering us back on track, "I'm pretty sure that it's been a long-term thing. Maybe all along. Eric thinks so too. All the working weekends...I know plenty of people who do, or who bring work home with them. I never even thought to question it then, but now, it just seems obvious." I look up at him with a sad little smile. "So, I'm a dope, basically. I should have seen this coming."

"You know you can't actually blame yourself for this, right?"

"Can't I, a little? The more I think about it, the more I realize that he made it clear that what we had, our whole life practically, wasn't enough for him. I just don't understand why he wouldn't," I pause, trying to find the right words. "Cut me loose. Even now he seems determined to tell me more lies, when his whole jig is up." I finish.

"You'd have to ask him I 'spose. But then you'd have to talk to him," he concludes.

"Yeah and I really don't want to either, so I guess I'll sit here wondering for a while yet," I say.

"So now you're gon' tell me about who is Eric," he says, sitting back and swirling the wine in his glass around as he looks at me expectantly.

"You know who Eric is," I say. "He has decided to be my friend, and did his good deed for the decade taking in a little lost me and taking care of me for the week."

"And did he take care of _all_ of you?" He's teasing me. The little he knows of Eric to date is that he's Bill's hot boss, who comes off as a lecher. And even knowing that he's just joking around, I am completely unable to prevent myself from turning a vivid pink in seconds.

"He did!" Lafayette gasps, shocked with me. "You naughty rebounding little vixen!" He leans over and takes a little smack at me and I shake my head at him.

"It's not quite like that, there were extenuating circumstances," I say. He continues to tsk and cluck at me until I finally quiet him down. I explain about our sort-of date, and then about the mugging, which he has him gasping and gaping at me all over again.

"Sook you have had a fucking ridiculous week," he says seriously once he's calmed down a bit. He is absolutely correct. That is exactly what this has been.

"I know!" I agree. "But anyway, we went to bed that night, and then in the morning...and then in the afternoon and evening. And then a little tiny bit this morning," I finish, hastily.

"I knew you sounded strange when you called," he says. He is shaking his head and grinning at me. "Well," he starts, pondering. "Well, well, well."

"Laf, it was just a thing. I'm not even sure I'll see him again. I'm allowed to have just a thing with Bill's hot-ass boss," I say, with every ounce of confidence and maybe a sliver of defiance.

"And is it a very hot ass?" he asks.

"Oh yes," I confirm with a nod as I grin back at him.


	7. Ouch

A/N And again, thank you for your feedback!

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><p>When I served Lafayette his pie after dinner, he complained girlishly that I was trying to make him fat. As if. He has a very nice body and I know he works hard to keep it that way. We made our way through the rest of the wine and just enjoyed ourselves. After my very guarded admissions about my bedroom activities with Eric, he began to regale me with accounts of his own recent conquests in far more graphic details. I had to switch gears a little bit when he got into it. Other people's private lives are, well, private. He enjoys to share though, just like Amelia. He also has a tendency to embellish wildly and use a lot of florid language. I was very happy listening to him talk for a while. It felt like a normal night of hanging out, and I had really needed one.<p>

He was finally ready to get home to sleep and I decide to leave with him. I tidied away our dinner dishes and packed up the leftover food to send home with Lafayette. He was pleased with that. We walked out to our cars together and I gave him a tight hug.

"Thanks for coming over," I say. "I needed this."

"Apparently the bar has been lifted up a bit for staying in your good graces this week," he grins back. "So I'll be having to be trying harder."

"Oh stop," I say, swatting at him.

"What time should I come by tomorrow?"

"Oh, I'll be here early so whenever. Don't rush yourself for it, really."

Assuring me with a laugh that he won't, Lafayette bade me good night and I head back to the hotel. I only brought a change of clothes for the morning and my own shampoo and soap back with me. It would be nice to have them back, even if I had to take them into a wholly inferior bathing chamber. The hotel shower is actually pretty spacious, but I still scoff with mock disdain when I get in there and see the mere one shower head. Yeah, I'm spoiled forever now. I'm exhausted, so unlike last night I have no problems falling asleep. Very much like last night though, I wake up several times with the same discomfiture that follows my nightmares. I dreamed that Bill was unpacking all my things and scolding me for being silly, and then Lorena is at my Gran's house doing our gardening with Eric. Pam brushed past me with a tray of seedlings she was carrying over to him. She's telling me I told you so, though I don't actually see her lips move.

And just what are you trying to say, subconscious mind? It hadn't seemed so bad but I was left feeling very unsettled. I struggled in my semi-wakefulness to recall more details but it all slipped quickly away. Finally I drifted back to sleep again so when I woke up in the morning I was feeling a lot less weary in body but no less unencumbered mentally than I'd felt since Sunday morning, basically. Today I'd pack up the last vestiges of the me I'd been alongside Bill. Even as I told myself that I should embrace the task with determination and even zeal, I couldn't help but linger over my melancholy. I guess that's standard normal in a situation like this, but that idea didn't really offer much in the way of consolation.

I picked up breakfast for Lafayette and I on the way back over to the condo. I decided to get right to work, and so I just propped the door open with a shoe so he could come right in. We had set the front bedroom up as a study; part office for us both, and part library. I packed away my laptop and went to put it with my suitcases. The desk had been custom built to fit the room, stretching down one wall and wrapping around the corner across half the other. We each had a workstation there, theoretically so we could be working at the same time, but that situation had yet to arise. I made a note about needing a desk. I'd picked out my chair with care though. It would be coming with me. I wheeled it out into the hall.

The opposite wall, full of books, was a lot more daunting. I kept all of my old school books, and had the rest of the collection I'd amassed for myself along with everything else I'd brought from home. Bill and I had organized our respective libraries into one space, loosely by subject, and so his fiction was mixed in with mine, and his computer books were by my math ones, and so on. This was going to be tedious. I start from the topmost left side shelf and begin to work my way across, carrying short little stacks down every time I step off his chair, which is what I'm using to access everything up high. No, standing on a rolling office chair to lift down heavy things from high places is not the smartest thing to do, but this is the most convenient solution. We can't all be six feet five and reach all the things like some people I know. Mm. I smile a little bit. I'm looking forward to dinner.

I hear Lafayette holler out my name down the hall as he comes in the door so I set my current load aside and go to meet him. He's got a peck on the cheek for me and true to his word he is wearing a pair of very short cut-off denim shorts, over a pair of bicycle pants. Maybe they're weight lifting pants. Regardless, they're made of spandex. It's an interesting look and when I compliment his outfit he tells me that he has covered up to protect my modesty. I laugh at that, thinking back to the last time the subject of my modesty was broached. I serve him breakfast by way of handing him an egg sandwich wrapped in paper, and we went over the plan for the day as he ate. We only needed to pack the rest of the study and then get the furniture ready to go. The moving company was going to take care of actually packing and wrapping it to ship, or be driven, or whatever it was they did. I was responsible for removing or securing any moving parts (like drawers), and separating any parts that could be separated (like lifting the mirror off its stand).

We walked back to the books again and he agreed to pack and shift while I sorted. As we did so we chatted about this and that. One of the teaching assistants in his department had been dismissed after it was found that he'd made some grade adjustments in exchange for some extra-sexual favour assignments. He was bemoaning the fact that no one had ever approached him for something like that and I told him about the scandal at Peterson I'd heard about. We agreed that teachers had a rough time of it, being under the weird microscope of adolescent scrutiny. It was certainly true. Some of my students had always used to tease me about still being a _Miss_ Stackhouse. How old did they think I was? I knew that some of the other unmarried faculty members went by Ms., to avoid just that sort of thing. I knew a single man who taught high school and wore a fake wedding ring to class.

He was finishing packing the last of my textbooks away and I gave the bookcase a few final adjustments. I had ended up removing everything of mine carefully, so the spaces between his books, where mine had previously stood, were left intact. It was an interesting picture. Lafayette glanced up to see what I was seeing and gave an appreciative whistle.

"Quite the message you're sending here, Sook," he say.

I give a satisfied little nod. "I did the same thing in the closet. All his shirts are in an orderly little row, right along the floor."

He chuckles. He has taped up the last box and hoists it up with a might groan. "I'da burned 'em with the bed."

I smirk at that. He wouldn't really. One of his exes had ruined some of his clothes with bleach as a parting gift back in school and he'd been really bothered about it in the aftermath. It hadn't just been because he liked the clothes. He felt like it tainted the whole relationship. He couldn't walk away with any good feelings about it at all, which he would have done, even despite their break-up. So whatever he might threaten, I knew that Lafayette was not really a destruction-of-property kind of guy. He carries the box away and I hear him set it down heavily in the hall before he returns to join me.

"What's left?" he asks.

I glance around in here and realize I need to go through the desk and take out all my files and papers. I've got a lot of things from the house stored here, and my own bills.

"Oh darn it," I exclaim suddenly. "I've got to take my name off of all the utilities here."

Lafayette is content to lean back on the couch and just relax as I start sorting through all of our bills in the desk, removing what is mine and phoning up to remove myself from everything that's done jointly. I reach a bit of a sticking point when it comes to the electricity, because it's in my name alone. I'd needed a utility in just my name when we moved here, to establish residency. We had planned to switch it over to a joint account after I was more formally employed, and had pay stubs with our address on it, but we hadn't gotten around to it yet.

"I say just cancel it effective tomorrow," he offers. "But knowing you, you'll schedule your end of service for next week so he won't have to go without, goodie two-shoes that you are."

I smile at that and call the company to make the arrangements, authorizing them to debit my bank for the last payment, but giving them my new billing address back in Bon Temps, just in case. That leaves me with the safe to go through, and I retrieve my keys. We have one of those fire-proof ones for all of our important documents. It's built into the desk, and sort of hidden that way in a drawer, but it's not particularly secure. I think you could probably prise it open with a crowbar or something if you were really determined. I unlock it and fish out my passport and birth certificate and the deed to my house, my diploma, my banking records, and a thin envelope full of savings bonds that Gran had given my for every birthday until I turned eighteen. They weren't all fully mature yet. I think they take fifteen years or something. That's when I notice the little ring box.

I pull it out with just a little, "Huh," sound, but I've captured Lafayette's attention immediately. Without making too much fuss I go ahead and open it and it is indeed a diamond solitaire ring, a very substantial one, at that. Since I can feel his eyes on me I hold it up to show him and he comes off the couch to take a closer look, pulling it out from its padded velvet perch and leaving me with the box.

I imagine that the look on my face is one of utter disbelief and I ask him, "What do you make of that?"

He's still studying the ring, turning it over in his hands. "It ain't no tiny pebble," he finally says. "It's engraved."

"What does it say?" I ask wonderingly. I can already feel the tears pricking at my eyes. My face is hot.

"My one and only," he answers flatly.

It takes another moment for that to set in. I ball my hand into a fist around the little velvet box and hurl it as hard as I can against the wall as I shriek, "BASTARD!" at the top of my voice. "You stupid! Asshole! Lyin'! Cheatin'! Bastard! How dare you? How God-Damned Dare You?" I am practically screaming through my tears by the time I finish my tirade. The box has left a little black scuff mark on our taupe-eggshell wall. Who knows where it bounced. It doesn't matter that Bill's not here, it's him I'm yelling at. Lafayette knows that and he kneels quickly and settles his arms around me as I gulp for air. I'm actively sobbing now.

He rocks me back and forth as I continue breaking with my grief. I am shaking with anger at his absolute gall even as I weep for the lie and the loss of our three years. I hear my phone go off at some point. I've shed no small amount of tears over him this last week, but it hasn't been like this. I'd been shocked, and exasperated. I'd felt sad, and betrayed. None of it had been as bad as this. I was inconsolable. I cried out all the tears I had and still I sat there heaving and my friend gave up doing anything more than staying beside me to be a body I could lean against.

He'd spent at least two years lying to me about our finances and sleeping with another woman while he told me every night he loved me and he let me love him back. Just over a week ago I would have blindly accepted such a ring with delight. After talking to Amelia I'd decided that he had not committed to me beyond what we had because he knew deep down it would be wrong to do so. I'd been thankful for it. Grateful, even, that he'd held back, that there had been a line he didn't cross. For every breach of trust there was at least some reservation. That he held me in enough esteem for that, at least. This was depraved.

"Give it to me," I asked my friend. He handed me the ring. I slid it on my finger. It fit perfectly. It wasn't for her. It had been almost a flicker of hope, but no. I took it off and gave it back to him.

I quietened down, stilling myself. There was nothing to say.

"I hate him." It was barely a whisper. Okay, maybe one thing.

"You're not the only one," Lafayette agreed.

He gave my back a final rub and got up to move around the room. He was looking for the ring box. He must have found it.

"Do you need anything else from the safe?" I shook my head. I can hear him locking it up again and the drawer sliding shut. I'm fixated on that scuff on the wall. I'm done here now. I don't want to be in this room any more. I don't want to be in this house any more. Not this city, nor this state. I settle for the room. Scooping up my small pile of papers, Lafayette pulls my arm to get me up and I follow him to the den, which is full of not-my things. Bill's new couches, Bill's electronics, Bill's paintings. My phone rings again from somewhere else. The kitchen maybe? I ignore it.

I'm not sure exactly how long I've been sitting here when I hear Lafayette ask what he can do for me. I guess it's been more than just a few minutes. I look at him, and shake my head. I come to, finally.

"There's nothing in here that's mine," I say, looking around. I may just as well have entered the room. "We're done here." I say flatly.

"We didn't get to the rest of the furniture," he says.

"I'll sort it out tomorrow. The movers can help. I need to leave here now."

He doesn't argue. I stand up and follow him to the kitchen to get my phone and purse and the garbage from breakfast. I'll just take it with me. I don't bother setting the alarm as I leave, but I do lock Bill's front door. I walk down to my rented car with Lafayette trailing behind me. I cringe when I turn around and realize only this moment that I probably won't see him again until the summer, if he makes it home.

"Girl, I'm not sure you should be driving or being alone right now," he says.

I hold my hand up, shaking my head. "I'll be fine now. I'm sorry. For all that. I'm sorry. I was..." I trail off.

He cuts me off with a tight hug. "Shh. I know exactly what 'you was'," he says. "And don' be sorry. The only thing you done wrong is loving a man who turned out to be a piece of shit through and through, and while I'm willin' to concede you got me beat... we all been there from time to time." He finishes, dropping into a bit of a lilt. He's not being sassy right now, it's just his plain old normal accent. It's home. He pulls back and gives me a small smile, which I return in spite of myself.

"I didn't even ask when's the next time you'll be home," I say.

"Not til' July, but when I do, you and me and Miss Amelia will do ourselves some catching up first thing," he assures me.

"I'm really going to miss you," I say, honestly. I'm still hugging him.

"Sookie you got me on the phone any time you need me, and you know I need to keep you blushin' with my excapades," he drawls. It's not goodbye. It's see you in a while, and talk to you soon.

I give a final squeeze before releasing him.

"Buzz me when you get back to your hotel, just so I know," he says. I nod. He sees me into the car, and I go.

Back at the hotel I fill my miniscule washing-basin of a bathtub with hot water and sink in. At first I'd been convinced that the whole experience of packing up would be like what it had just ultimately proved to be, the entire time. I'd prepared myself to be crushed the second I'd walked in the door yesterday. I hadn't been, and I'd let myself think that I could get through this like a grown woman. That I could do what needed doing and then go home. I had been wrong, wrong, wrong. That was just par for the course, wasn't it, regarding everything with Bill? Stupid, silly, sightless, sad, sorry, sappy, Sookie...

"Hello?" I asked. I'd come right in here. My phone had been right outside the tub, so I just leaned over and picked it up and answered it when it rang, still in my bath.

"Sookie?"

"This is she, who's calling please?" I was on complete auto-pilot.

"Ah. This is Eric Northman."

"Oh. Hi Eric."

"Hi Sookie...Is everything okay? I've been trying to call you all afternoon."

"Oh. I'm sorry about that. Something came up."

"Here as well, actually. Listen I just have a minute, but I'm afraid I can't meet you for dinner tonight. We're trying to figure out... well, it's just work stuff, but unfortunately I really need to be here."

"That's fine, Eric. You've already given so much of your time."

"Sookie are you alright? You sound odd."

"I suppose not really, no."

"Can I give you a call later? I'm glad I was able to catch you, but I really did only have a minute."

"Sure Eric, I'll talk to you later."

"Talk to you later then. Bye Sookie."

"Goodbye." I hung up and set the phone back down. That's where it stayed while I dried off. This hotel did not have any robes for me to wear, and mine was still at Bill's with the rest of my stuff. My phone was still in the bathroom when he called back after his meeting that night, but I didn't hear it, because I was asleep. After two days of exertion and two nights of pretty restless sleep, I slept for a long time. It would serve just fine, since I had a long day ahead of me. I'd scheduled the movers to come at nine, and I wanted to get over there well ahead of them to do what I could about the furniture. I had a bit of time here, and one more important thing to do. I sat down at the uncomfortable desk and found a few sheets of complimentary stationery and began to write.

_March 21, 2012_

_Bill,_

_I've moved my things out of your condo. Please find my keys to the house, the safe, the mailbox, and your car enclosed with this letter. I have contacted the utilities and removed my name from all accounts. My service with the electric company will end on the 31st. You will need to contact them to make arrangements for yourself before then to avoid an interruption of service. They have already been paid through that date._

_I will be returning to my home in Bon Temps, LA. Learning as I have this week the great extent of your dishonesty, I now believe that our relationship was headed toward its end regardless of what you have referred to as your indiscretion. I have searched my heart and can find no forgiveness for you there. I have no desire to have any future contact with you and I sincerely hope you will respect my wishes._

_Sookie Stackhouse_

It took a lot of effort to get that written down so concisely, but I was proud of the result. My first draft had quickly morphed into, "Jerk Jerk Jerk Jerk I hate you." Thankfully, with the third and final sheet of paper, I got it out. I folded the letter and put it in the envelope printed with the hotel's name and address in the top corner. I did a quick once over of the room, but I didn't have much here, and hadn't left anything behind. I dropped off my keys, checking out of the hotel. They assured me it was being covered as a corporate expense. I guess Pam really had taken care of everything. I meant to send her a little present when I got home.

On the way to the car I found a missed call and a message from Eric, right around the same time.

Sent by Eric - 9:27 p.m. Sorry again for tonight. Guess you've gone to bed. I'm home and up for a while.

There was another missed call from him just after eleven. It was still early, but I called him anyway. I am sure I seemed pretty rude when we spoke yesterday. Unfortunately I get no answer. He'll see that I tried. I stopped at our post office on my way to the condo and dropped off a change of address forms, then I got to the bank just as it opened and changed my address with them too. I would probably be closing this account at some point, but for now I didn't want my statements going to Bill. When I arrived, I checked his mailbox to make sure there was nothing in there for me. There were a couple of envelopes, so I grabbed them and put them in my purse. I'd found no trace of the letter he had mentioned from the school I applied to, but then I hadn't delved into any of his personal spaces, only my own and common things.

I called the moving company to confirm they were coming, and they were. I strode into the guest room and pulled the drawers from the vanity and managed to lift the three folding mirrors on top off of its base and carry them into the hallway. The frame was really too heavy for me to move alone, so I just pulled it away from the wall and transferred all of his remaining pictures and baubles to the floor as planned. I'd noticed the smell of garbage as I'd passed the kitchen so I went right ahead and changed the liner, adding the milk and his leftovers from the fridge to the bag and threw it all away. I was moving with purpose and indifference this morning, not letting myself dwell on anything beyond the tasks themselves. I realized I did have some movies tucked away in one of the cabinets in the living room, along with the chess set that had belonged to my mother's parents, which was on display. I was packing up the final box as the movers arrived.

They got started with the boxes, and I was sure to warn them about the books and the silver, since these were considerably heavier than everything else. I hadn't marked anything as 'fragile' but they had a large roll of bright orange stickers and they used them on the kitchen stuff and the box I'd labelled as "Miscellany Gran/Jason" which contained most of the keepsakes from the guestroom. They had no qualms at all about moving the vanity table, dresser, and the bookcase which had been my grandmother's out of the room. They seemed to cotton on pretty quickly to the fact that only half the house was packed, and one of the big burly beefcakes had given me a few conciliatory little smiles. I'm sure they've seen this all before in their line of work. The pair worked incredibly quickly, I thought.

They had everything loaded in ninety minutes and were asking me to do a final walkthrough to make sure I hadn't missed anything. I did so, but I'd been pretty thorough.

"No bed?" one asked, double-checking as they followed me through the last sweep.

"I wouldn't sleep on that again if you paid me," I answered shortly. They didn't ask after anything else.

We were done, and I gave them the each twenty dollars. It wasn't a lot, but it was something. They were being paid anyway by their company of course, it was just a little tip. They assured me that I'd have delivery in seven business days, so, by the end of next week. I thanked them, and then I was alone again.

I shifted my laptop, my big suitcase, and my new smaller case close to the door along with my purse and my coat. Then I went ahead and did the real final walkthrough. I'd achieved my goal. I could see very plainly as I walked from room to room where I'd been for the brief period of time when this had been my home. It was now just empty space. There were pictures of us hanging in the hallway and I stopped to look at them. I took one down. It was he and I when we'd first moved into the old apartment. He was posed showing off the flower boxes that he had built right after the bulbs I'd planted had started to sprout up. I was standing there beaming at him. It had taken us a bunch of tries to get it right, because we'd staged it using the camera's time delay, and the window kept catching the light and blacking us out. We had finally got it right, and we were both awash in the golden afternoon sun looking genuinely happy. I'd been genuinely happy. I tucked it into the front of my suitcase and then wheeled it out the door.

I grabbed my remaining belongings and set the alarm and then I was out the door and locking up. I headed over to the mailbox and separated out all my keys, put them in the envelope with my letter, sealed it, and slid it through the slot. All moved out. I got myself into the car and I sent a message off to Lafayette that I was on my way to the airport. I sent the same one to Pam, and she called me back immediately.

"Everything went okay then? The movers were fine?"

"They were swell, Pam. Efficient, tactful, and polite. How are things there, still hectic?"

"Yes, but I am technically on my lunch break so I am ignoring it all for the moment."

"Aww, I hope he's not too hard on you this week."

"He'll be fine. He needs to keep me on his good side or I'll fuck with his schedule." I laughed a little at that.

"Any issues while you were there?" she asks.

"Some, but I don't want to get into it again right now, no offence. I had a rough night."

"Alright then. Well Barbie, give me a call when you get bored out there in the middle of nowhere. Do you even have cell service?"

"Yes Pam, We have cell service in Bon Temps. We even have indoor running water and that new fangled electricity."

"How very modern."

"I'll be living in the future while you're still stuck in the past out here," I joke back lamely. The difference in time zones... it's the best I've got.

"I'll try not to envy you."

"You do that. Pam?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For the whole everything. You've been amazing."

She brakes in her quick rapport. "You deserve better than what you had. It'll be good. Chin up, carry on, and all that."

I give another little laugh and say goodbye to her. I head off to return my car. That in itself was no problem. When asked if I wanted to pay with the card on file, I went ahead and gave him my own instead. Waiting for the shuttle took a really long time, but I wasn't in a particular hurry. The next flight out was in five hours, so I had plenty of time to kill. I felt ridiculous lugging all my bags on and off the little bus when it finally did show up. I was the only one on it. I felt like maybe the driver could have offered a hand, but he just sat there listening to his music while ignoring my struggle, yet being attentive to its completion so we could go. Thanks buddy.

I checked in at the desk and confirmed my ticket to leave on the next flight out. I ended up checking both suitcases, which made me uneasy and relieved all at once. I don't like flying in the normal course without at least one change of clothes, just in case they lose my luggage, but with the laptop and my coat and purse I was already bogged down. If they did lose my bags, at least I'd have a washing machine at my disposal. I finally got settled in the lounge and sent a text to Eric saying, "Tag. Flying at 6." I got one back right away telling me he was in a meeting and would call later. It ended up that he didn't though. I tried to doze off for a little while and I think I succeeded for maybe twenty minutes. I forced myself to sleep on the plane. When I arrived in New Orleans my luggage was indeed there waiting for me, thank goodness, and so was my reservation for yet another rental car.

I folded my coat and my laptop back over the smaller suitcase and flounced up to the parking garage. An officious young woman was running the show up there, directing a gaggle of men who were fetching the cars and keeping the short queue of people waiting for their rentals moving along. She met me with a winning smile and must have found me looking harried. At her word a spry fellow game over and grabbed my bags, hoisting them one after the other into the trunk, and securing my carry-ons in the front seat. I signed for the car and was off in minutes. I wished I'd gotten her name. Her supervisor needed to hear her praises sung.

Once I was on the highway I went ahead and turned my phone back on. I had no messages. I called Jason to let him know I was on my way, and then I called Amelia to let her know that I was home, or at least heading home, but more home than I'd been. She started to ask me about the packing up and I tell her it had gone alright.

"You're full of it, I talked to Lafayette last night," she replies. I get my back up immediately. The second worst part of any personal crisis is the fact that all the people around are indeed discussing it at the exclusion of yourself. All the fretting people do about "but what will people say"? Yeah, that's a hundred percent a valid concern, because people talk. It's what they do. I wasn't feeling up to being confronted by that reality, least of all from friends.

"Then why'd you even ask me?" I inquire. I make it clear with my tone that I'm already through with this line of questioning.

"I'm allowed to be concerned, Sookie," she's being a bit more gentle now, and I'm inclined to back down too. I still don't want to rehash yesterday right this minute. Since she's only on the phone, she has no real gauge on the tenor of my silence. She gets it completely wrong. In her same soothing voice she presses, "He said he's never seen you like that, ever."

"I don't want to talk about this now!" It's rarely a good idea to yell at your friends. It's particularly rude when they were just trying to console you. It's a disaster when it's Amelia you're yelling at.

"Fine, alright. You only had to say so."

"I just did."

"What the hell is your problem? I just want to know what's going on with you!" she fires right back.

"Why don't you just call Lafayette and ask him."

"Sookie, what the fuck?"

"I'm hanging up now." I do so.

I know full well I'm out of line, but darn it, that girl just needs to learn when not to push. Now I get to sit here for the next few hours stewing over the fact that I've just pissed off my best friend. I've been straining to hold it together all day and now that I'm finally alone I'm doing a terrible job of it. I'm very tired. Emotionally, I'm a post-apocalyptic wasteland. When my phone rings again I turn the sound off and chuck it over my shoulder into the back seat. It's the middle of the night anyway, who even calls people at this hour? I don't know why Lafayette deemed it appropriate to tell her my business. That was for me to tell. Do I want people calling me up and demanding me to explain myself for my latest breakdown? I don't think so. I'm just fed up with the pair of them. I flip on the radio and start punching through the channels, jabbing my finger into the buttons. This thing is useless. The buttons are all huge. It's so dumbed down as to be barely operable by someone of normal intelligence. Who designed this garbage? And who let them? There's nothing worth listening to on here. After a few more haphazard stabs at the console I manage to turn the stupid thing off.

All the while I am having my solitary little hissy fit, a part of me is sitting aside, fully conscious of my infantile behaviour. I'm too exhausted, I'm too stressed out. Effectively I'm a raw nerve and any stimulus makes me want to scream. The last rational thing I've thought or done is turning my phone off. I do not need to be speaking to anyone else while I'm in this state. I have to stop and get gas and I don't even think about going inside to get something to eat or drink. Cause I really want to deal with the kind of person who works at a convenience store at four o'clock in the morning just now, right? Wrong. I don't. I slam the nozzle back into the pump when I finish then I slam my door as I get back in. I got gasoline on my hands, and now it's stinking up the whole car.

I finally, finally get to my house and it's nearly six. It's still dark. My porch light isn't on. I fumble with the key and finally get the door open. I leave everything in the car. I don't turn on a single light. It smells musty in here. Thanks for getting by to open the windows, Jas. I stalk to the back of the house and throw myself down on my grandmother's old, lumpy bed, on top of her hideous knit afghan, fully dressed, and that's how I fall asleep, with my keys still clutched in my hands.

It's dark when I wake up, and I am completely disoriented. There's a pounding and it's coming from both inside and outside my head, and in different rhythms. Someone is knocking on the door. With a groan I pull myself off the bed and stumble down the hall. I check through the curtained window and it's Jason. He wasn't pounding on the door, he was kicking it, because his arms are full. I open up.

"Sook?" he asks, questioning.

"That's me."

"I saw the car this morning and I figured it was, I just brought over some..."

"What time is it?" I cut him off.

"Uh, going on eight?"

"At night?" Yup, still out of it.

"Yeah...?" he offers tentatively. Because it's full dark like this at the other eight o'clock, ever. I start patting my cheeks a little roughly, trying to wake myself up.

"I'm sorry, I guess I slept the whole day."

"Can I come in?" he asks, hoisting the paper bags he's carrying for emphasis.

"Yeah, of course, come in. Give me a minute, I need to get some stuff from the car, I'll meet you right in there," I say. My purse and my computer are just sitting on the front seat, but I've got my butt in the air sticking out of the back as I feel around under the seats trying to find where my phone got to.

"You still got stuff in the trunk?" I jump at the sound of his voice right behind me.

"Yeah," I say. "Thanks."

He strolls around to the trunk and gives it a couple of taps to let me know to open it. I crouch up to hit the push button on the keys to pop the trunk and finally see my phone wedged under the driver's seat. Fourteen. Fourteen missed calls. Super.

I haul myself out of the back and then my belongings out of the front, and follow Jason and my suitcases back inside.

"If you don't mind me saying so, sis, you look like death warmed over."

"Thanks brother."

"I brought ya some groceries."

"I love you."

"Uh-huh."

I walk into the kitchen and he follows me, flipping on the lights. I take a seat at the table, and he does the same. He's quiet for a long moment, looking me over. Finally he asks me to tell him what's going on, so I do. I tell him everything. During one of his breaks to curse Bill, I clicked through my missed call list. Jason himself, Lafayette, Eric, Amelia, and a number I didn't recognize even by its area code. I'll call Amelia first thing after Jason leaves. I'm not making any calls, but I'm playing with my phone at the table. Darn it. Stupid sales guy was right. I quickly set the phone down and push it away from me deliberately.

"I told him back when he moved in with you that if he hurt you, I'd kill him," Jason finishes. I hadn't known that. It was the sort of thing he would say though. An idle threat. Except he didn't sound very idle right now.

"He better not ever show his face here," he says.

"Nice, Jas."

"I'm serious. I see him, I'm bound to break a knuckle on his teeth, and I got fishing plans for Sunday that I need my reel hand for. He just better stay away."

"I'm sure he will."

"Crystal's cookin tomorrow night. You coming by?"

"Have you moved her in properly then?" I ask.

"Good as. She goes home to visit sometimes, but it's easier when she just stays."

"I'll be by," I answer. "What time?"

"Six or so. And then I'm grillin' on Sunday."

"I wouldn't miss it."

"I should get home then, you gonna be okay for the night?"

"As okay as I can be. Apparently I have a few calls to return."

"Well, 'f you change your mind... Crystal wanted me to tell you you can stay with us." He starts to get up again, so I follow suit. When we're both standing, I wrap my arms around his middle.

"Thank you Jason."

"Alright now, you can quit all that." He hugs me back and it feels reluctant, but after a moment when I don't let him go, he gives me a good long squeeze in earnest. "I'm glad to see you home," he says, finally releasing me and extricating himself from my embrace.

"I'm really relieved to be here," I say honestly.

"Right then. I'm due back at the house, so we'll see ya tomorrow. Call if you need anything."

"Alright, I will do," I reply. I stand at the door and wave him off while he retreats down the porch and leaps up into his truck and heads off, spraying gravel.

Back on my lonesome, I decide to go ahead and return my calls. I'm both well rested and awake now. I'm still a bit raw, but Bitch Barbie is back in her box. Lafayette is first, and he is all apologies about spilling the beans to Amelia, but then once those are through he very delicately hints that I need to call her. I cut through the crap and admit I was an unholy terror when she called. It's her _I_ owe the apology, and I know it. I knew it even at the time, but she was pushing my buttons and wouldn't quit. I make a joke about going to face the music, and he says he has to do the same, and then excuses himself to watch Glee. I've been banned from watching it by him. Apparently I ruin it when I try to sing along. Hmph.

I stare at the bag of groceries on my counter and realize that putting them away is a major priority, well ahead of facing my shame on the Amelia front. I carefully store my supply of bread, butter, milk, cheese, breakfast cereal, hotdogs, buns, and catsup, and then Amelia is calling me herself. Thanks Lafayette. I bite back the urge to be annoyed and answer my phone.

"I'm sorry," she says immediately.

"I'm sorry too, and I was more wrong. It's no excuse, but I was just at the end of my rope."

"I know hun, I'm just worried about you."

I want to tell her she shouldn't be, but I know I'd be worrying after her if she were in my position. "I'm okay now. I'm home, I've slept. Crystal's cooking for me tomorrow. It's going to be okay."

"He's a son of a bitch."

"You get no argument from me."

We chatted for a while about my plans to get settled in. She seemed to be drawing out the conversation, which I didn't mind. I started to unpack a little bit, and was checking through the house as we chatted. I found that everything was more or less in order. I did go ahead and throw open almost all the windows. I had a nice cross breeze going.

"I'm kind of dreading my stuff showing up here," I admit.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to want to unpack and then pack again."

"Well, you'll have to unpack some," she says.

"Oh, I know. I'll end up doing it all, I'm sure. So much of it feels like...well like a bygone era."

"I guess that makes sense. Don't just throw things out though," she sounds tentative.

"No, I won't, but I think I'm going to run with this fresh start thing as much as I can."

"That's good. That's important. You need to focus on you. You've been part of you and him for a really long time."

"I know. It's going to take some getting used to. I'm so sorry again for hanging up on you yesterday. I really hope I can keep my head out of bad places in the future." I'm hanging up some of my things now, and sorting out the dirty clothes. I don't have a laundry hamper here. Or detergent. I pace back to the kitchen and start a new shopping list.

"It's forgiven."

"Ugh. I need a job. I have so much to buy. I'm going to get started on that tomorrow."

"My offer's still open if you want to stay here for a while."

"I thank you for that, but you were right before. I need to be on my own."

A short while later I say goodnight to her. I'm lucky she's so forgiving. Heading back through the house again I can't help but shake the feeling that I'm now living in yet more borrowed space. Everything here had been my grandmother's and now it was nearly empty. Even familiar things like her old couches were gone. They'd been shabby. They'd survived my father and aunt growing up, and then Jason and I. It was a wonder they'd lasted as long as they had. The pastor at the church had graciously accepted a lot of what we'd donated, but I had the sense that he'd be passing more than some of what we'd gifted on to the parish dump. It would be a nice project for me, to make this place home. Soon, really soon, I amended to myself hopefully, I'd have a new apartment to tend to, but I was determined to keep this place up as well. It could use some work.

I settled down to happy planning for the rest of the evening. I resolved to contact my old school tomorrow and try to get myself into the rotation as a substitute, if nothing else. Maybe I could post up some fliers at the library about tutoring. It really wasn't the same up here as it was in the city, I knew. Most of the families around here probably wouldn't have the budget for the fifty dollar an hour rate I'd been getting. I was a certified teacher, not some kid babysitting after school and helping with homework for gas money. It hadn't been by chance that most of the kids I'd worked with were from affluent homes. I'd have to think about that some more. Maybe I'd readjust my rates for the area.

I heated myself up a couple of the hotdogs that Jason brought over for me and finished my unpacking. There was an impractical little writing table in the front room, but instead I set up my laptop at the kitchen table. I fitted the little mobile broadband card that Eric had picked out in, and was relieved when it worked right away. It was slow in comparison to what I'd been used to, but it worked, so thank God for small favours. I started to browse around for thank you gifts for Pam and Eric but then it occurred to me that having stuff shipped from online might seem a little bit impersonal after all they'd done. Instead, I added it to my to-do list for the following day. Though I wasn't really tired, I went to bed. I needed to get my sleep back on track. I tossed and turned for a couple of hours and then finally found a comfortable niche betwixt the lumps and drifted off.

I woke up early Friday morning and ate my cold cereal. I found a box of stale tea in one of the cabinets and as it had promised to be, it was a lousy substitute for a cup of coffee. I showered and dressed and headed over to the Walmart. I had a huge cart, and I was filling it easily. I found an Easter display and grabbed up a couple of baskets. I had the great idea to fill them with things for Pam and for Eric as I wound through the store. I found a Barbie doll that kind of looked like her, a box of chocolate cherries, and a little pedicure set that smelled of peppermint and rosemary. For him, I was a little stumped. I finally settled on a movie that I'd been shocked to learn he'd never seen and a book he'd mentioned he'd been meaning to read. It didn't seem like quite enough, so I also found a travel umbrella (for all the rain they got up there), and a brass keychain with fleur-de-lis emblem. I figured that was kind of nice since he likes to drive, and it's kind of emblematic of New Orleans, and a tiny hint at the day we'd toured the gardens. I hoped he wouldn't think it was weird. Well, he didn't have to use it if he didn't want to.

I had a little lunch by myself in town and wrote out their thank you notes, then went right over to the Pack and Ship, and had their gifts sent to their office. I didn't remember the address, but I just looked it up on my phone. I left from there and went ahead over to the school to make my inquiries about substitute teaching. One of the ladies in the front office had been there for ages and she remembered me. Mrs. Park came out from behind her desk and greeted me like the prodigal daughter returned. I hope that boded well. We chatted for a bit about what was new in town. I told her my situation in terms of settling back here temporarily in the hopes of returning to New Orleans by the fall term.

I got back to the house and pulled around to the side door so I could load things out of the car right into the porch and the kitchen. I got busy cleaning. I switched on the old radio and I flitted around the house, washing linens and my clothes, pulling down curtains, and dusting. I heard a knock on the front door and swished a curtain out of the way to show a man obscured by a huge gift basket. Bemused, I swept a palm across my sweaty forehead and swung it open to see what was being delivered.

He shifted the wrapped cellophane basket across his hip as he said, "Sookie. This was on your front porch."

"Bill," I stated flatly. "What are you doing here?"

He paused for a long moment and I took that moment to step across and look out in front of the house. There was a car pulled into the driveway. He was alone. I lifted the basket out of his hands and stepped back and set it inside the door. I did not invite him to come in.

"Well?" I put my hands up on my hips.

"Sookie, I..."

I cut him off. "Was I not clear in my letter, Bill? I don't want to see you."

"Letter? I've just..."

"Check your darn mailbox. Go do it now and get off my porch."

"My mailbox? I've been out of town this week, I've just driven down from Little Rock," he starts to say.

"I've said all I have to say. Your keys are all sittin' in your mailbox. I've got no more business with you."

"Sweetheart, please..."

"I told you not to call me that again."

"_Sookie_, listen to me..."

"Get off my porch, get off my land, before I call the Sheriff, and I swear to God you do it now, or I'll skip Bud and go straight to callin' Jason." I'm feeling eerily calm right now. I was ready to make good on my threats, too.

"Sookie I need to explain!"

"Explain what? Explain how you've been sleeping around with Lorena the whole time we've been together," he opens his mouth to interrupt and I go right over him, "And don't you dare deny it when everyone you two work with could see it plain. Maybe you want to _explain_ about how Area Five has been paying our rent for the last two years, or the whole cost of our move? What did you even do with the money I gave you Bill? It's not like you needed it."

"Sookie, that was for our... I knew you wanted to contribute to our home," he starts up.

"Oh you just know me so well huh? Well that makes one of us doesn't it."

"You're taking these things entirely out of context, how did you even..."

"How did I even what? Learn about the rest of your lies? I don't doubt for a minute you've got plenty more I haven't heard about. Maybe I could have found a few more, but I didn't pay your things much mind when I was clearing out."

"Clearing out?"

"I've moved out Bill. Like I said, your keys are waiting for you when you get back to Seattle. Go on and get 'em now." I move to shut the door on him but he wrenches his leg and his shoulder into the door, jarring me backwards.

"LET ME SPEAK!"

"Back UP!" I scream back at him. He does. Each of us take a moment to breathe.

"Sookie I was ending it with Lorena. I've been building a life with you. I'm moving upwards at work. The money...I've been setting it aside. I knew you wanted to chip in, I knew you were proud of that little hole in the wall we used to live in...I've been saving it for the future, for our family, so you can be a part of that..."

"Our family! Me be a _part_ of that? And just when exactly was I to find out my _part_ in that?"

"I don't intend to discuss these plans for us when you're being so obstreperous."

"Oh I found the ring, Bill! I'm aware of what you had planned for us. "My one and only?" You were really aiming to draw that one down to the wire, weren't ya! Or even were you?" He has no response to that. "Get out of here," I tell him once again.

"Sookie you need to stop this. It seems that all is out in the open now, but if you'd calm down for half a second you'd see that it doesn't actually effect our situation," he weasels.

"Our _situation_ Bill? Did you even love me ever?"

He doesn't answer, for long enough that it's an answer in itself. I go to push the door closed again, moving behind it. I'm through with this.

"Damn it, STOP THIS!" he shouts again, and pushes back hard against the door with both hands and all his weight behind them.

The door hits me straight in the face and I feel my nose crush and a sharp crimson fogginess wells up in me instantly. My body slams back against the wall and I feel my head bounce against a solid beam. Twice. Suddenly the force that pins me is gone and I hear him say my name again as I crumple to the floor. I don't look anywhere but straight ahead of me. I crawl my way over to the table grabbing for my phone. It tumbles onto the floor and I clutch it to me and dial.

In a moment, "Ayup?"

"Jason, bring your shot gun. Right now."


	8. Supersedure

A/N Aah, sorry for the cliffhanger last time. It just seemed like a good stopping point. Also, re: PMs/Reviews for **this** chapter (incidentally, I love them, send more :D) Just be aware that Lorena may not be what we'd call a "reliable narrator."

* * *

><p>I heard Bill moving toward me across the entry way and I struggled to push back away from him. "Stay away," I say to him.<p>

"Sookie? What's going on?" came Jason's voice from the phone.

"For Christ's sake, Sookie, cut the dramatics," says Bill. He's leaning over me now as if to get a better look. I blink at him trying to focus, but my vision is definitely hazy. I feel the room lurch and I throw out my hand to try to catch myself. My palm slips out from under me and I land hard on my elbow. My head is freaking killing me.

"Crystal hold this, come on," I hear my brother say before a feminine voice through the phone is asking, "Sookie? Sookie are you there? What's happening? Jason, where are we going?"

"Get...get out," I mumble at Bill. His face isn't perfectly clear, but I can see at least that he's giving me an ugly look.

"You're a spoiled, ungrateful little bitch," he spits, and then I hear him walking away. It's the last thing I see or hear before my brother's voice brings me back. He's shaking my shoulder.

"Sookie! Sookie wake up, what happened? Sook! Come on, Sookie!"

"Jason?"

"Crystal she's awake. Sookie, what happened?"

"He came from Arkansas. He pushed on the door at me." I'm trying to answer him, but I'm so tired right now and my face and my head hurt so much.

"Sookie is it your back? Can you stand up?"

With a Herculean effort I pull my feet back and push against the floor. I can feel him helping to lift me and I stagger as I stand, grabbing on to him.

"We have to get you to the hospital," Jason says. "Crystal, call Bud Dearborn, he's going to have to meet us there."

Jason helps to guide me as I stumble out to his truck. He hoists me in shuts the door. Crystal comes in through the driver's side and sits next to me.

"Keep her awake. You gotta keep them awake in case it's a concussion," I hear my brother tell his girlfriend.

Crystal is on the phone with the Sheriff's Department telling them that I've been attacked at home and they're taking me to the hospital. She grabs my hand and holds it in hers after she hangs up. She is squeezing it periodically and asking me what happened. I don't know that I'm saying anything coherent, but I try to answer her questions. Jason speeds us to the nearest hospital, which is still forty minutes away. Way out here, waiting for an ambulance was something only done if a person couldn't move or be moved any other way. This was three times faster, at least, going in the truck.

When we arrived at the emergency room I was quickly bundled into a wheelchair and brought inside. At some point, I fell asleep again, or I fainted, or they gave me something to put me unconscious. When the dust had settled, I was lying in a gurney in a hospital gown. I had a broken nose, a "moderate" concussion, and two cracked ribs, and a lot of bruising. The little old lady nurse had joked that it seemed my "bosoms" had protected me from further harm to my chest, at least judging by the patterning of my bruises. All in all, I'd have a lousy few days and make a full recovery. They taped the ribs and I had a little bandage and a sort of plastic splint across the bridge of my nose, but on the whole, these were not the kind of injuries that required a lot of treatment. I was stuck here overnight for observation because of the concussion.

Sheriff Dearborn was there when I woke up, along with his deputy, Kenya Jones, who had graduated a year or two ahead of Jason. I remembered her. Bud had been friends with our dad, so we knew him of course. At their prompting, I gave an account of the whole incident, from mistaking Bill for a delivery guy, to his parting words. Jason had an outburst when I described the car he was in as a late model silver sedan. Apparently he and Crystal had passed him coming up the road on the way to my house. I told them how he'd been on a business trip in Arkansas this week, and I figured that was likely where he'd gone back to, before returning to Seattle. I told them as well that I had communicated to him on two occasions that I didn't want to see or speak to him again, that I'd changed my phone number and severed all ties to him. At their urging, I did press charges, or rather, I agreed that they should file the charges, and put in my request for a protective order against him.

Even though he lives out of state, Kenya said it was the wise move to file the reports and lay the groundwork. He'd already displayed a few times that he was ignoring my wishes to end contact, and he'd showed up at my home unwelcome and unexpectedly. I was honest with them about the fact that I didn't believe he set out to do all the harm he had done to my physically, just that he hadn't exactly seemed to feel bad about it. They told me that was a matter for the Courts, should it come to that. So I went ahead and filled out the papers they needed me to fill out, and signed what they needed me to sign.

"This way," she told me, "If you so much as see him again, you call us, and we don't have to wait until you get hurt or harassed again to intervene." From where I was laying, it sounded like the best thing to do.

Jason finally gave me my phone back just before he went out with Bud and Kenya. They wanted to see the house, and he wanted to get Crystal home.

"It's been ringin'," he said. "But I didn't want to answer it." I gave him a grateful smile and he gave me a little peck on the forehead before he left, assuring me that he'd be back in the morning to spring me.

Left alone, I sorted through my missed calls. I was beginning to feel like Miss Doom and Gloom. Every time anyone heard from me lately it was bad news. It was late, so I didn't want to call Amelia. I know they say that you're not supposed to use cell phones in the hospital any more than you're supposed to use them on a plane, but the truth of the matter was that just one in a room wasn't going to emit enough anything to affect the machinery. We'd learned all about it in my classical physics course. Since it was earlier there, and we'd basically been missing each other all week, I called Eric back.

"Sookie, hello," he answered. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

"I've been calling you plenty, you just never answer," I say.

"I could say the same. It's been crazy up here. How are things in the Pelican State? Are you settling in okay?"

"Oh," I look down at my prone form. "I'm pretty settled in tonight anyway." I grin to myself at my little joke. "I've got a lot to do next week, but it's coming along."

"Did you like the bath stuff?"

"The what?"

"The basket? I had the spa at the hotel put it together, since you seemed to like all their products so much. Just a little homecoming/housewarming gift. I know it was delivered, I checked the tracking..."

"Oh! Yes. Yes, it was delivered alright. I haven't had a chance to open it yet. Thank you. I'm sure I'll have a more proper thank you for you after I get a chance to look."

"Well, you could go look now. If I recall correctly, you particularly liked the lather on the bodywash..."

"Ungh," I groaned a little. I could feel my face flushing at that particular memory and it actually hurt. "I'll have to check into it tomorrow, I'm actually not at home right now," I confess.

"No? Are you having a lively night at some trendy hot spot?" I can hear his smirk.

"You and Pam need to stop making fun of my town," I grumble at him.

He chuckles. That is exactly what he was doing. "Where are you?"

"I'll tell you, but only if you promise to believe me when I say that in the normal course, I'm not nearly the disaster I've been for the past two weeks."

"Sookie?" He sounds concerned now.

I go ahead then and explain to him my current whereabouts and how I came to be here. He doesn't interrupt at all throughout my entire monologue. His quiet is kind of unnerving.

"Eric?" I ask when I've finished, to make sure he's still there. That'd be just great, tell the whole story only to realize the call had been disconnected three minutes ago and I'd been babbling to myself all this time. He was still there.

"So Bill Compton, one of our executives, put you in the hospital tonight with a concussion and three broken bones, and now there's an arrest warrant being issued for him in the State of Louisiana," he summarizes tonelessly.

Is he mad about Bill not being able to come here for work? He sounds cold, and his cold sounds a lot like mad. "Eric, I'm sorry if this causes you any problems with him coming here for work, but I think Kenya's right. If he keeps harassing me I don't want to have to wait to need another reason to ask the Sheriff to come and call him off..."

"Sookie that's not what I... Are you okay? How long do you have to stay in the hospital?"

"They're letting me out in the morning, it's just because of the concussion that I have to stay tonight at all. I'm tender and achy, but I'm just fine. The doctor says I will heal up just fine."

"Jesus Fuck, Sookie."

"Eric, what..?"

"You're lying in a hospital bed right now. It's not fucking _fine_."

"Well, I guess it's not, but, it's nothing that won't heal."

He goes quiet for a while and I'm starting to feel a bit guilty for calling at all. He's told me he takes the weekends off, and I guess I've just thrown him a major wrench. Another one.

"Eric, I'm sorry if this affects him and your work."

"It won't for long. He's fucking gone. I'm taking this to Sophie Ann on Monday morning. We're a publicly traded company. Assault and battery are felony crimes."

"Eric, that's...You don't have to do that."

"I do, actually. We're not in a position to accommodate any loose ends or liabilities. You're aware of what's at stake for us right now," he pauses for a long moment. "Sookie, I'm going to have my lawyer down there contact you next week."

"Wh-what? Why?"

"I don't know the in's and out's of extradition or defamation or anything like this. You said he just fled the scene and left you there...who knows how that piece of shit is going to react to the warrant and the order of protection. It would be a good idea for you to have a contact through this process. You can also decide what you want to do civilly. I assume you're going to have medical bills."

"That's...Eric, I barely understand half of what you're saying right now."

"That's why you'll talk to Cataliades. He's good. He will give you his fair opinion and spell everything out for you."

"Eric I can't afford..."

"That's not a concern," he cuts me off. I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a moment.

"Eric," I say firmly. "You need to rein yourself in here."

"Sookie," he says right back to me. "You're being unaccountably stubborn here. If I have to finesse you into agreeing with me while you're lying in a hospital bed, I will do so, but I'd really prefer you just say you'll take the call and accept the man's guidance."

"Eric why are you doing all this? It's well beyond your concern."

"It certainly isn't, but as to why, it's because I can. It is no inconvenience for me to help a friend where I am able," he pauses. "Would you do any differently?"

"You just said you'd prefer not to finesse me." Because that's exactly what he's doing. Of course I'd help a friend if I could, any way I could.

"You're still balking."

"Fine."

"Fine, you'll talk to him?"

"Yes," I agree.

"And you'll take his counsel?" he tries to confirm.

"Yes."

"Good," he confirms. "What are you wearing?"

I try to snort, at that, and it makes me wince, and the sound turns into a sharp little whimper.

"Sookie?"

"I'm sorry...it hurts to laugh a little bit. I'm wearing a very shapeless and unsexy hospital gown. And socks. I don't even know where my own clothes are. I bled all over them. They probably threw them out."

"One of those gowns that's open in the back?" he asks.

"Maybe."

"I can work with that." Huh? Oh. OH. "Sookie?"

"Yes?"

"Does it hurt to blush as well?"

"Yes, actually, thank you!"

"Goodnight Sookie. I'll talk to you soon."

"Goodnight Eric."

I set the phone down, pondering. He'd made several jumps there that I hadn't even considered. Extradition? Was that even possible? I'd have to ask about that. The idea of the hospital bill was a really unpleasant thought. It made me want to get up out of this bed right now and leave. I stared at one of the monitors like it was the meter running on a taxi, and I felt myself starting to panic. I felt incredibly stupid for being so carefree with my money over the past week. That hadn't been a rainy day. This was the rainy day, an actual emergency. I sat there sore and worried until my nurse wandered in to check on me. I guess my blood pressure and pulse had spiked a bit.

She checked me over and made sure that I was comfortable, and then she asked if I was ready to go to sleep. When I nodded, she went ahead and gave me another dose of pain medication. It was good stuff. Three cheers for hospital-grade narcotics. I was out like a light in just a few minutes.

The following morning, Jason and Crystal arrived to check me out. They'd brought some clothes for me, which I very carefully changed into. I was clear to go with orders to take it easy for a couple of weeks, and to see my regular doctor for follow ups and in case I had any persisting issues. I didn't actually have a regular doctor here. I'd seen my paediatrician right up until I had left for college. I would call his office for a referral. I got a prescription for pain killers and a warning not to take any over the counter medications instead. Apparently ibuprofen wasn't good for the concussion and aspirin wouldn't help with the bruising. I went ahead and got the prescription filled at the hospital pharmacy. I went down to the billing office. It was actually worse than I'd feared. I was little comforted when they assured me I could pay it off by months, but there was really nothing else I could say about it, so I nodded to the kind old woman and departed.

My brother and his girlfriend had tried to stay and fuss over me, but there was really nothing for them to do but sit there while I went to lay down. They ended up leaving pretty quickly, but Crystal returned about an hour later with some sandwiches for me and a handful of DVDs that I could watch on my laptop. She was being very sweet. She was really the first girl that Jason had settled with, and on the few times I'd met her she had seemed a bit snotty. Turns out she had not cared for Bill, who'd always been with me when we'd met before. He'd always seemed stuck up, to her. She was glad I was home, because it made Jason really happy to have me near. She left her number with me and told me to call them if I needed anything, and that they'd come get me tomorrow because Jason was still cooking.

I fell asleep watching the sequel of some summer blockbuster movie. When I woke up, I called Lafayette and Amelia, conferencing the calls together so that I would only have to tell the story once. They were appropriately shocked and concerned. I had to stress quite a bit that I would be fine before they seemed to settle down and believe me. I was surprised when neither one of them dug in to abusing Bill again. It wasn't that I particularly wanted to hear it or anything, but I'd been expecting it, and expecting to be able to get a bit of laughter in over it. They could play off each other perfectly for stuff like that, but they didn't today. After subdued goodbyes I ate my lunch and had another nap.

It was gone evening before I got up to use the bathroom. I hadn't wanted to dwell on it this morning, but I had a good long look in the mirror to study all my injuries. My nose is swollen and I have some definite purpling under my eyes. There's a butterfly closure on my forehead where the skin had split open and I feel a serious bump on the back of my head, though my hair covers that. There is a straight line of bruising down my chest where the door had impacted. I drop my shirt with distaste and take a very slow walk through the house. When I get to the front, I realize that someone must have cleaned up in here. I had definitely bled on the floor a little bit yesterday, but now there was no trace of it.

I see the basket of goodies by the door and try to bend to pick it up. Okay, ow. New plan. I carefully lower myself to the floor and begin to unwrap the cellophane. There's a full compliment of spa products in there, shampoo, conditioner, soap, bodywash, things for my feet and hands, and other lotions and crèmes. I smile. I search around for a note, but couldn't find one. I guess there wouldn't be one from Eric, since he was no longer there at the hotel, from where the basket had been sent.

I gather myself up and slowly rise off the floor. I put together a couple of ice packs in the kitchen, really glad I filled the trays for the freezer yesterday. Gran's old Frigidaire did not have any of the bells and whistles like the automatic ice machine like our new one had had. I pad back to the room for rest and another Michael Bay-style extravaganza on the laptop. I get distracted and start looking up on medical sites for tips on how to cure bruises. I fall asleep for good at some point and when I wake up the following morning, I feel a little better. Still sore, but a little better.

I was not going to make it to church this Sunday morning either, it seemed, so before I got out of bed I took a few minutes to be thankful that my injuries would heal, that my brother was near, and for my friends in general.

I wasn't exactly bedridden, but my body needed rest, and frankly, I had nothing else to do that wouldn't count as exertion. I started working through my list of schools in New Orleans. I did my best to personalize every email I sent, which didn't speed the process. I figured it would be in my favour if anyone noticed that I'd taken the time, and wouldn't hurt if they didn't. I kept a careful record of everything I sent. I got through ten before decided I needed to try to bathe. I felt pleased to realize that while it would be necessary for me to take it easy for a few more days, that time would not be completely wasted. I had dozens more schools to get through.

I had a very awkward and careful shower wherein I did use some of my new spa products. Blow drying my hair was out of the question as even brushing it out had proved to be a painful chore. Still, I managed to be dressed and ready when Jason and Crystal came by to pick me up for dinner. Jason claimed it had been no trouble at all, since they had needed to do a beer run anyway. It was a quiet evening and we enjoyed the steaks that Jason grilled, along with some potato salad that Crystal had prepared. We had a dessert that was some combination of Jello and Cool Whip and graham crackers blended together to create what she called "Raspberry Cloud Parfait". It was tasty.

We sat out for a while after dinner and Jason talked about his plans to install a hot tub on the porch. He'd always kept the house up very well and seemed to take a lot of pride in that. I had to take another pain pill after a while. I was practically slumped in my Adirondack chair when the two of them surfaced from their musing over outdoor winter whirlpool use and decided to get me home. They dropped me off along the side of the house again. It was the entry Gran had always used, in the main, and so I guess it was old habit. I remembered to text Eric a thank you for the bath stuff before bed. He sent back reminding me about Cataliades calling tomorrow and wished me goodnight.

I found Desmond Cataliades to be quite kindly when he phoned the following afternoon. He'd been briefed by Eric, but he had me give him a full accounting of the incident with Bill. He asked me a lot of questions about our break-up, and our relationship in general. He wanted to know the details of my packing up and leaving the condo. He delicately asked if Bill had any cause to believe that I'd been unfaithful or dishonest at any point in the relationship, explaining that if he could have been incited by me in any way that this could be used in defence of his erratic mental state, should the matter ultimately come to trial.

"Now, Miss Stackhouse," he said, once I'd finished. "Do you intend to push for an extradition order?"

"I...I'm not sure. To be honest sir, I'm not sure what that entails."

He explained then that if the state decided Bill would be prosecuted, they could put in a bid to have him arrested in Washington and brought back here to face the charges of assault and battery. This was because these were felony charges. Realistically, he told me, Bill's attorney would try and likely succeed, to have the charges dropped to a misdemeanour, if not outright dismissed. My head was swimming.

"I'm not out to ruin his life," I said. "I just want to be through with him. I don't even care if he gets arrested or charged or anything, so long as whatever happens to him, it's well and far away from me."

"Then we can make that view plain to the prosecutor's office. They are not obliged, but they certainly should, take the feeling of the victim into account when determining how to proceed. A standing arrest warrant will certainly serve as a deterrent to his re-entering the state. Even should the charges be dropped, the protective order is good for six months."

"Do you think that's it then?" I asked.

"It is difficult to say. If he were my client, I would certainly try to contact you or your attorney in an attempt to convince you to withdraw your claims. I will leave you with my contact information, Miss Stackhouse. Giving it to them should be your only response if you are so approached."

We talked for a bit more about the legal process, and I confess that I took in only the broad strokes of what he was telling me. This seemed to have gotten very big, very fast. When I started to worry though, he assured me that it would be a fairly slow and painless process, and that he would do his best to 'keep a finger on it' as he said, and keep me apprised. When we finally hung up, I felt dazed again. I was sore, but I didn't take another dose of my medication. I was overwhelmed enough as was.

Feeling a bit lousy reminded me that I had to contact my paediatrician's office for a referral for a proper doctor, and after a nice chat I took his suggestion and made my appointment with Dr. Amy Ludwig for Wednesday morning. I figured that by then, I would be able to drive myself. Thinking of it reminded me that I needed to sort out my car situation, since I really needed to return the rental and get something permanent. I needed to return it by Thursday. I had only gotten it for the week, thinking that would be more than enough time with it while I was getting settled. I obviously hadn't counted on being down for a few days.

I phoned Jason and asked him if he knew of anyone selling a car, and he didn't, but told me he'd ask around. I spent the rest of the evening browsing around on the internet, but I didn't have much luck. I really wanted to buy one from a person, rather than a dealership. Yes, the dealership would assure me it was in running order, but a mechanic could do that too, and I'd rather pay the mechanic than overpay for the car itself. It was my own logic. I was going to stick to it if I could. Also, I figured that I'd get a more honest appraisal dealing with a regular person selling their own car than a salesman selling one of many cars. I didn't want to accidentally get talked in to spending more than I could afford either, by putting myself on a sales lot. I'm self-aware enough to recognize that I'm too easily persuaded in general. I resolved to avoid more situations where this could be manipulated. I figured that this was the better alternative to becoming sceptical. It was part of my whole fresh start thing.

I hoped to hear back from Eric that night because I was very curious about what had happened to Bill. I even forced myself to stay awake well past after I was feeling tired, but in the end I didn't hear from him. It must have been pretty frustrating to have to deal with it. It was one more thing on top of everything else they're coping with involving the potential merger. I'd been really surprised they were even still going through with it, but I guess they badly wanted the acquisition.

Tuesday morning was great for a couple of reasons. First off, the bump on my head was nearly gone by the time I'd woken up. It was still tender, but I could more or less brush out my hair with no more than my usual amount of cringing from pulling tangles. Second, I heard from Mrs. Park at the Bon Temps school, and they were happy to add me to their roster of substitutes. They weren't large, and I could be filling in from anywhere from elementary through high school, but, I was on the list. Progress! I had to push back my date of availability until the following Monday though, because I was still on take-it-easy mode. Mrs. Park seemed to know exactly why.

"Oh yes, I had heard something about the trouble," she said. I smiled. This was small town living for sure. Polite, but nosy! "You're doing well, Sookie?"

"I am, Missus Park. I'm seeing Doctor Lugwig over in Monroe tomorrow, but I can't imagine she won't clear me for next week. I'm already feeling better."

"You just take it in your stride dear. Will we see you at church this Sunday?"

"That's my plan and I'll be sure to see you there, Missus Park." Technically, we were going to be coworkers, but I'm sorry, she was still Mrs. Park. Some people are just born to be a Missus or a Mister.

"Well then I'll see you Sunday and I'm sure I'll be calling you soon. It's coming on pollen season, and we always have a few go out."

"I'd say that sounds great, but I'd be afraid it could be taken wrong! I'll talk to you soon then. Thank you and take care."

"Take care, dear."

So, I'd have a little more to fill my days, intermittently. It was a start. I set down to work through my school list and around about lunch time Jason came by with hamburgers and milkshakes to help me "keep up my strength." We sat and visited for a while and he told me all about his work. His promotion to supervisor of the road crew was not without some trappings of power. While he used to go out and eat with the rest of the boys for lunch, he'd overheard a couple of his new guys, fresh out of school aged, griping about having to hang with the boss on their breaks. Apparently they didn't feel they could relax around him. So Jason had been making a point to have his lunches at home, or to meet Crystal in town, or else go down to the bar on his own to shoot the shit with the other men for an hour. I giggled at the idea that my brother was a stern old man to these boys, all eight or nine years their senior. I figured he was hinting that once I had got back on my feet, my house would become a stop on his lunch rotation, much like it had been when Gran was still here. The thought made me feel warm inside. I'd be happy to have him.

"You know it's a shame that you took the extra week to get down here," he remarked, as I was clearing the lunch. "John just sold his mom's old car, it woulda been perfect for you. She kept it real nice."

"Oh? Yeah, that is too bad," I say. Well, at least he's looking.

"Yeah, she's living up at that Briarwood Complex now, you know the old folks home."

"Aren't they calling them 'retirement communities' now?" I tease him.

"Eh, it's all the same thing. You know though, I bet if you went and put up a couple of fliers on their bulletin board, you might find someone else who'd rather have the cash than a car they ain't usin' anymore." Yeah, sometimes my brother is a genius.

"That's a really good idea," I enthuse. "I think I'll stop by there after the doctor's office tomorrow then."

"You gonna be okay getting' up there? You're still movin' a bit slow," he says, giving me a little playful pinch in the side as I moved past him.

I edged away, bending just a little too quickly and winced as I felt the sudden movement in my ribs. My hand instantly went to my side, "Ouch. Not if you keep that up. I was doing much better."

"Sorry Sook. You okay?"

"I'll be fine, but cut the horseplay," I say sternly.

He chuckles at that and shoots me a fond smile. "You sounded just like Gran right then."

That makes me smile a bit too. We don't talk about her a whole lot, with each other. It's still hard, so we don't dwell on it. He bent to give me a peck on the cheek and cleared out, leaving me to get back to me school list. Later that night I spoke to Amelia for a while, giving her an update on my recuperation. She had run into some problems with one of her contractors. They'd missed a deadline by miles, and she had basically had to fire them and take the loss. I listened to her rant attentively and made my indignation on her behalf known, joining in on lambasting them along with her and suggesting that she write up her experience on one of these consumer advocacy websites, so others would see it if they took the time to check on them before hiring. It wasn't brilliant problem-solving, but I offered what I could.

"You should tell your dad too," I said.

"What? Sookie, I'm not running to daddy just because I have a problem with a contractor!"

I roll my eyes to myself. Her relationship with her father is very weird. She does love him, but they don't get along. He tries to buy her affection, and to some degree she lets him, as with her graduation present, which she used to start her business. She's not one of these spoiled brats that takes everything off their parents though. She'd no fan of the David Threadgill's of this world any more than Eric is. She tries to go out of her way not to be one, and I can tell she's offended to hear me suggest that her father use his clout to solve this problem. I suppose they're a bit alike, Amelia and Eric. She's misunderstood me, though.

"I don't mean run to him for help, I'm just saying you could mention it. Like you would to any other business contact who might be in need of a contracting firm."

"I guess so," she paused to think, "Oh, I could probably bring it up at my WE meeting, too." Women Entrepreneurs is a group Amelia's been involved with for a couple of years now. Basically it's a network for business women. They do luncheons and give seminars and have a scholarship program. She's explained it to me a bit better, but it sounds like a nice idea, women supporting women. To some extent, or at least in some people's minds, this is still a man's world, so a group like this is useful within it.

"Well, there you go, that too," I encourage.

"I guess it's all I can really do besides cutting my losses. Still it's a damned inconvenience."

I let her grumble a bit more before I said goodnight, and found my way to bed pretty quickly. Wednesday morning I wake up with what feels like my first full day ahead of me since getting hurt. I'm actually excited to be going to the doctor's office. How do you know you've been housebound too long? That's how. Though the swelling on my face is more or less gone, I've still got some nasty bruising. I do my best with the cover up, but the best I get is that maybe if you're standing pretty far away, it looks like I haven't slept for a few days. Well, it'll have to do. I put on some big sunglasses for good measure, being careful as I set them across my nose.

The drive out to Monroe seems shorter than it is. I sing along to the radio for a while until I'm interrupted by Pam's phone call.

"Hi Pam!" I say cheerfully.

"Do I have the Easter Bunny?"

"Oh, did they come?" I mean my baskets, and of course they must have arrived, why else would she be calling me Easter Bunny?

"Yes, I'm just unpacking my new voodoo doll."

"What! I picked her cause she looks like you."

"Does she?" she pauses. "No. My hips are slimmer."

"Well, I hope you like the chocolate then."

"I am tucking them away now to save for a rainy day."

"Are things going better then?" I ask.

"Things are interesting here," she says evasively.

"Pam?"

"I will let Eric know to return your call then. Was there anything else?"

"Um, Pam, you called me."

"Yes, I can confirm that. Are you free at four? I can put it in his schedule."

I finally realize that she must have acquired an audience or something, because otherwise, she's not making a lot of sense.

"Sure Pam. I'm on my way to the Doctor's and I'm running some other errands, but I'll be home late this afternoon. Call me back when you can."

"I'll do that, thank you for calling."

Well that was weird. Obviously it wasn't Eric, cause I doubt he'd mind if she were talking to me for a minute. Or maybe he would, I don't know. He does seem pretty focused when he's in work-mode. Who knows? I'll find out later, if it's important.

Doctor Ludwig turned out to be a squat and unattractive woman with thick glasses and a perpetual sardonic scowl on her face. I found myself relieved at her appearance. I'd wanted a woman doctor, because there are just some things you don't want to admit to a man, any man, even if he's got a stethoscope. She was not pretty, and I found that I preferred that too. I try to be real confident in myself but there's something intimidating about a very attractive, highly educated woman in a lab coat, while you're sitting there in your skivvies. She enters introducing herself as Dr. Amy Ludwig and sparing me barely a glance up from the folder she's holding. For some reason, I decide that I like her immediately.

I had seated myself on the edge of the examination table wrapped in one of these paper gowns.

"Sookie Stackhouse," I say, holding out my hand.

"Miss Stackhouse, you seem to have a very bad boyfriend. Am I going to be seeing a lot of you?" she says, as she takes my hand briefly.

She'll have all my records from the hospital in that folder of hers. Logically, I know this. And I'm sitting here looking for all the world like a battered woman, despite my best efforts with the makeup this morning. Despite all that, her blunt question still brings me up short.

"No ma'am," I answer, swallowing hard. "And he's no longer my bad boyfriend."

"Good," she says. "Too many of you girls put up with too much crap and my schedule is busy enough without filling it up with injuries that could easily be avoided. Lie down, let me have a look at you. Is the head still tender? Turn to the side this way." She has set the clipboard down on a counter and is quickly moving towards me, all business. I hasten to follow her instructions. I feel her at my head, tentatively probing my scalp until I wince, indicating that she's found the sore spot. "Sorry," she says, with no inflection to indicate she truly is.

"Well he sure did a number on you, it's too bad this was how you had to learn your lesson," she says, moving down to lift the gown up to get a better look at my ribs. "I'm going to pull this tape off, we'll redo it before you leave," she starts to fuss with pushing the paper smock out of the way but it won't stay in place. "Miss Stackhouse, you have nothing I haven't seen before. Sit up and take this off please, I need to have a look at your torso."

I move to follow her instructions automatically, shrugging out of the gown and balling it up into my lap. I'm glad I'm able to do this because a big part of my brain is nagging at me to correct her assumptions.

"Lift your arms," she says, and I do so.

"Doctor Lugwig, this was actually an accident. I'm sure you have heard that before but this actually was. I was closing my door and it got pushed into me. It wasn't...this is the first time I've been injured like that or even close in any way," I explain. It's bothering me that she assumes that I'd be one of these women that puts up with behaviour like this from a man. Maybe it is what everyone else who's seen me and doesn't know me has assumed, but this is my doctor now and she needs to know the truth.

When I speak she pauses in her doings and steps around me again, eying me up with a withering look.

"It got pushed into you?" she asks.

"Yes," I confirm. "He.."

"He is legally blind?" she interrupts.

"No.."

"So he was aware that you were _behind_ the door when _he_ pushed it into you?"

"Yes, but he..." I trail off, not knowing how to finish that.

"He was very angry, and has never done something like this, and would never mean to hurt you. Yes. Unfortunately, Miss Stackhouse, I have heard it all before," she says, softening by a tiny fraction as she finishes.

"For all that you're a modern woman, you are still a woman, and your man is still a man, and most likely is bigger and a great deal stronger than you, and it's on him to take care with that, but he didn't. I have some literature I will leave you with when I finish my examination," she says, then lifts a hand, "And don't argue, Miss Stackhouse, you can toss them in the garbage if you insist, but I'll have done my best."

"He's no longer my man," I repeat quietly. "He showed up here more than a week after I left him."

I'm getting another of her hard stares. "Alright, Miss Stackhouse. We'll just hope there won't be any repeat performances. You understand that I have to be hard on these things when women come to me with _injuries_. When it's finally bad enough that they come to see me, it's usually not the first time. It doesn't serve anyone to beat around the bush. Call it my tough love approach."

I give her a little nod to indicate we have an understanding, and I lift my arms again so she can get back to pulling off the tape around my ribcage. She draws in a breath as she finishes her work and gets a good look at me. I glance down to see I'm still quite purple. And yellow. And a little green. Ugh.

"There's a crème I can prescribe that will help to heal the bruising," she says, as she begins to delicately probe at the contusions.

Once she's through checking over my injuries, the examination proceeds like a normal physical. She weighs me and measures me and listens to my heart and breathing. She asks a lot of questions about my normal medical history, and family history, if I'm taking any medications.

"And will you be continuing the depo shot now?" she asks, referring to my birth control.

"Yes, I think I may as well," I say. "It's probably better that it stay uninterrupted, right? In case, in the future, there's need."

"That's fine, when are you due for your next?" she asks, breezing tactfully past the subject of my potential future sex life.

"Next month," I answer.

"That's fine, I can administer it here and we'll schedule your next follow-up to coincide with it."

I nod gratefully. She rewraps my chest and fits me with a new narrow splint across my nose that looks a lot like these plastic strips that people sleep with to keep them from snoring. Finally she draws blood and tells me I can go ahead and get dressed as she withdraws with her little vials in tow. I dress as quickly as I'm able before she returns with the promised packet of pamphlets.

She holds them up, lifting her eyebrows at me meaningfully, "Just call it my due diligence," she assures, handing them over.

I give her a grateful smile, and she lets me know that she'll be calling next week with all my test results. She gives me a prescription for the crème for my bruises but I decline to have my painkillers re-upped. I still have plenty, though I'm trying not to take them. She reminds me to make my appointment for a follow-up next month with her receptionist. I tell her it's been nice to meet her but she brushes past my courtesies and sends me on my way. I stop in to pay my bill (wince) and schedule my next appointment before I leave. I'd been in there for a couple of hours.

I head over to the retirement community as I had planned and stop in at their reception desk to ask if there's somewhere I can post the little flier I had drawn up last night. It's pretty simple. I've written down my small budget and that I'm looking for a serviceable vehicle in any make and model. It's got my first name and my phone number and email address. Of course there are seniors that use the internet. Not as many maybe, but it's not like everyone over seventy eschews technology. There are probably plenty who use it better than I do.

I stop in at the library. I was incredibly pleased when I found my old library card while I was packing up, and I'd tucked it into my wallet. I haven't used it in a good six years, but surely it's still valid. I was out of books and was just plain tired of the DVD selection that Jason and Crystal had leant. You can only see the world saved so many times back to back before armageddon becomes woefully uninteresting. I found a nice little selection to tide me over for a couple of weeks and then I head over to buy some more groceries. When I find myself debating instant coffees, I just give up and go over to the appliance section and buy a new coffee maker. I'll keep it at Gran's and take my nice one with me to the new apartment, once I go. It's perfectly justifiable. It's got nothing to do with the fact that I can't bear to go two more days without a freshly brewed cup in the morning.

As I turn into my driveway and see another car that I don't recognize pulled up in front of my house, a feeling of great uneasiness settles over me immediately. I can see that there's a man and a woman sitting in the front seats as I drive slowly past them, pulling up around the side. I debate going over to see who it is, but instead I unpack my groceries first. They've been waiting for who knows how long, they can wait another couple of minutes. As soon as I've got the second and last load in and sitting on the kitchen table the knock comes at the front door.

I take my phone with me as I go to answer it. The man standing there is wearing a suit and holding a briefcase at his side. I join him out on the porch.

"Miss Sookie Stackhouse?" he asks, extending his hand. "I am Simon Maimonides. I am an attorney representing William Compton."

I shake his hand hesitantly, nodding to him that I am, indeed, Miss Sookie Stackhouse.

"I was wondering if you had a few minutes to discuss with me the incident that occurred here last Friday?"

"How do you do Mister Maimonides," I mumble. I'm glad I brought my phone out with me. I quickly unlock it and scroll through my contacts until I get to Eric's lawyer. "I would like to give you the phone number of a lawyer that you can call about this."

"You have hired an attorney?" he asks, surprised.

"I've been told that I needn't, and shouldn't, speak to you further, Mister Maimonides, I'm sorry," I tell him. That's when I look over to see that it's Lorena Ball sitting in the passenger seat of the car. Her eyes narrow as she catches my glance and I quickly turn back to Bill's lawyer.

"Do you have a pen?" I ask him. "Or a cell phone number I can send the contact to? Or an email address?"

"Yes," he says, haltingly. "Let me give you my card," he finishes. He pulls a packet of papers he has prepared out of his briefcase and hands them to me. I pull the business card off the top and punch the number into my phone to share the contact. I hear his phone chime as he receives it instantly. This thing is great.

"Desmond Cataliades?" he asks, with the same tone of surprise, as he produces his own phone to examine my message. "You're represented by Desmond Cataliades?" he clarifies.

Am I? He told me to give his information to anyone contacting me on behalf of Bill. I guess I am. I guess Bill's lawyer knows the name. He didn't sound thrilled to hear it. "Yes," I answer.

"Very well Miss Stackhouse, I will contact his office this afternoon. It has been nice to meet you," he finishes, and retreats back to the car. I stand on the porch impassively and watch as he has a brief exchange with Lorena. I can't hear what they're saying of course, since he's closed the door, but she looks livid when she turns to glare back at me. I struggle to keep my expression bland in return and watch them until they drive away. Then I go inside to call Cataliades myself.

It takes a few minutes of holding before I get him on the line. "Good afternoon, Miss Stackhouse," he greets.

"Good afternoon," I reply. "Listen, I am very sorry to interrupt your day, but I have just had a visit from a Simon Maimonides, who says he is representing Bill Compton. He just left my house up here. He was with Lorena Ball, I don't know if I mentioned who she was. Anyway he left me this packet of papers and I gave him your contact information just as you said to."

"Very good, Miss Stackhouse. You can look over it all, and I will wait to hear from him here."

"Alright. Uh. Mister Cataliades, just to clarify, are you my attorney now?"

He chuckles at that. "Yes, Miss Stackhouse. At Mister Northman's request, I'll be representing your interests in all matters pertaining to Mister Compton. Have you decided what you wish to do about a civil action? I presume that somewhere in that mix of papers will be a settlement offer precluding litigation."

"I honestly haven't given it much thought," I say, distractedly. So Eric is just lending me his lawyer? Like a cup of sugar? Or a pen, or a hair band? Hey, can I borrow an attorney? I thought he was just consulting with me. I need to call that man tonight.

"Well, you'll want to give it some thought. Since I have you on the line now, it would be useful to me to have copies of the hospital records here. I've managed to obtain the police report and the protection order already. I'll call you in a few days once I have heard what Maimonides has to say."

"Alright," I say. "Thank you, Mister Cataliades. You'll keep me informed?"

"Yes, of course. Good afternoon, Miss Stackhouse."

"Goodbye," I say, but he's already hung up. Well that's a heck of a thing.

I lock up the house and head back to the kitchen to unpack my groceries, annoyed with myself as I remember that I had both milk and ice cream in there. I unpack my coffee pot and wash out the interior, and then I go ahead and put a pot to brewing. The delightful smell reaches me back in the bedroom where I was changing back into more comfortable loungewear. It had been the first day I bothered with a bra, and it had gotten uncomfortable even after only a few hours.

I settle down at the kitchen table and read through the papers. Basically it seems that he's offering me ten thousand dollars as well as the contents of what is referred to as our joint savings account, which comes out to another twenty-two thousand. I'm not really sure what our joint savings account is, since as far as I know, we never had one. Maybe this is what he's done with all the rent I thought we were splitting? I have no idea. I chew at my lip for a bit. This would cover the medical bills, which were exorbitant. I'd even have a little bit left over which I could use to buy some of the things on my ever-growing list of needs for both this house and my future apartment. It didn't seem that bad, or that unfair. My phone rings and I go ahead and answer it without looking. It's probably Pam calling me back.

"Hello?"

"You think a high class attorney is going to get you anything more out of Bill you little cunt?"

Not Pam, then.

"Excuse me? Who is this?"

"You know exactly who this is you stupid bitch. Playing the innocent might work for your new corporate fuck-friend, but it doesn't work on me."

"Lorena?" I ask, incredulous. It's my only guess.

"Oh, not going to play your little game anymore? Well that's for the best, as I assure you, you will lose."

"Lorena, why are you calling me?" I ask.

"I'm calling to let you know that I'm on to your ploys and I'm done putting up with them. I let Bill string you along while he was oh so determined to raise himself a perfect little wifey to tote out in front of all the world. If you think I'll let you ruin him just because you've traded up, you've got another thing coming."

I should really just hang up the phone now. I just can't. This is like when people slow down on a highway to gawk at a car wreck. It's horrible, but I can't stop myself. "What are you talking about?"

"Whatever you and Eric Northman thought you were going to pull on us, you're in for a rude surprise. We've left Area Five. We used last week to buy a house together, while you were sneaking in to pack up all your textbooks. What do you think of that, little bitch?"

"I think it's fine, Lorena. I hope to never hear from either of you again."

"Oh I'm not about to promise that," she sounds amused. Actually it sounds like she's about to start cackling.

"It's been interesting hearing from you Lorena, I'm going to say goodbye now."

"Sign the papers, little Sookie. You won't get another red cent of Bill's money, and if we go to court, I'll see you buried. You'll find it hard to be the ingénue when you've been fucking the man's boss. Why you even bothered putting on this show, I'll never figure out. You could have stayed fucking him in Seattle for all we cared."

"I'm not _fucking_ anyone Lorena," I retort. Okay, maybe that's not entirely accurate, but it's beside the point. She's insinuating that I've been carrying on with Eric all the while that she's been carrying on with Bill, and that is definitely not true.

"Please, bitch. Did you think Bill wouldn't see the love note attached to your little parting gift?" What? I guess there had been a card with that basket maybe? I hadn't even got a chance to see it.

"What?"

"Oh, back to clueless are we?" she's mocking me in a baby voice now before she grows more serious again. "We're through with you, and we're through with Area Five. You'll see what happens when you try to fuck with me." She's barely making sense at this point. She disconnects the call.

I sit there completely gobsmacked for several minutes. I want to get real angry at her nerve but she's gone ahead and said a lot of things that really could do with some clarification. I sent Eric a text asking him to call me back ASAP. My phone is ringing again before I even have the chance to set it down.

"Eric?" I answer. I check the caller this time. No more surprises.

"Sookie, hey. Everything alright?"

"Eric, what the heck is going on? Lorena just called me, and apart from sounding stark raving mad, I'm pretty sure she threatened both me and you, and your company."

He lets out heavy sigh as he answers, "Bill and Lorena have gone over to Arkansas. They took..." he pauses. "It amounts to what you'd call corporate secrets, with them. En masse. We're kind of fucked." he finishes. Oh.


	9. Worker Bee

A/N Hnng. So I never noticed it when I was only reading, but now that I'm writing, I see that this site seems to act up frequently. That's too bad, as it's so much fun. Anyway, continued thank you's for your kind reviews. Other authors have noted - it seems to be the only reliable means of knowing people are reading and enjoying. I hope you still are!

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><p>Eric explained in brief that when Bill had been approached regarding the assault and battery charges, he'd tendered his resignation on the spot. By the end of the day on Monday, Lorena Ball had done the same. She had stated that they'd managed to so impress Threadgill the previous week, that before they left Arkansas, they had been offered positions there, in such pretty packaging that they were hard to refuse. Eric said that could have been equally "total bullshit or completely true." He didn't know if Arkansas was just throwing them a curveball, or if they'd been courted for some time before, as we'd discovered they'd been doing with the board members.<p>

The upshot was that the software division had been left scrambling for management, and it was unclear what, if any, developmental stuff they'd taken before their access was cut off. Either was bound by non-disclosure, but that stuff is pretty hard to prove until it manifests, and by then, it's too late. They certainly weren't counting on Arkansas Confederate to comply. The merger itself was up in the air. He said the only good news for the week had been that with Bill and Lorena away last week, they weren't privy to the fact that Area Five was now fully aware of Arkansas' more subversive bid to take over. She'd actually skipped the meeting where she would have been briefed, presumably to prepare for her departure.

I recounted exactly what she'd said to me, editing out all the curses. He clarified that yes, he'd sent a flirty note along with the basket. It had been in a sealed envelope, and he'd left it before we had departed, so I guess Bill had just taken it, which was weird. I was kind of hung up on the erratic behaviour of both of them, because it just didn't make any sense to me at all.

"I don't really think you can explain it, Sookie," he says. "When people's plans go to shit, a lot of times they just start floundering. He obviously never intended you to find out about Lorena."

"She made it sound like he wouldn't even care."

"He clearly does, or he wouldn't be trying to reconcile with you," he replies. He sounds cold again. It made sense. Whatever had happened between us, this was probably not a favourite conversational topic for him.

"Well, he's doing a bang up job," I say, letting my sarcasm out with abandon. I catch my own pun, and I burst out laughing a moment later.

"Sookie, it's not funny," he says. What a spoilsport. It was at _least_ mildly amusing.

"It does no good to dwell on it. Oh, I didn't tell you. I'm officially a substitute teacher again," I say, offering a little course correction.

"That's great. Have you heard anything from New Orleans yet?"

"No, but I'm only about halfway down the list, and even still a lot of schools won't be seriously hiring until the summer."

"It'll be nice once you're firmly settled."

"I don't think I'll mind being here for a bit," I say. "I'm going to start on the garden next week. I've got so many ideas."

"It'll be nice to keep you busy, I suppose. It makes me look forward to being in town again next month a little less though. Incidentally, I got your basket and your decorously worded note. I'll be starting on that book this weekend."

"I'm glad you liked it, I didn't think Pam was thrilled with hers."

"Oh, I caught her playing with the Barbie doll when I came in from lunch. I think she liked it well enough."

"I'm glad," I say, smiling to myself, mostly over the fact that he hinted he'd have liked to see me in New Orleans.

We chatted for a while longer, and I told him about nosy, good-natured Mrs. Park, and about Jason's coping with his new authority, and my rude little doctor. He listened with good humour. Eventually I realized that the conversation was being quite one-sided and grew a bit self conscious.

"I feel like I'm doing all the talking. What else have you been up to this week?"

"Hm. Your friend Jade will be coming out next week, so I've had Pam find a nice place for her and plan a couple of dinners," he offers.

"Oh! Do tell her I say hello. I got an email from her but I was not really sure if I wanted to keep up the acquaintance, so I only sent a very brief reply. I take it you'll be keeping her?" I pause for a moment. "I guess I shouldn't really ask after that kind of thing. Anything not-work related going on?"

"I'm afraid it's been all work related."

"Not even on the weekend? Eric, you know what they say about all work and no play."

"Sookie, are you calling me a dull boy?" he teases.

We say goodbye a little while after that and I find that once again I'm left feeling lighter just for having chatted with him. I decided to put the pin back in that one for now. At some point I'd need to sort out my feelings there, but geography mooted the point quite deftly. I take another look at the documents that Mr. Maimonides had left me with. I was thinking that maybe if I took anything from Bill, it should be the full cost of my hospital stay. Then I was thinking that I really wanted to confirm what our joint checking account was. I made some notes for Mr. Cataliades, and then I phoned my doctor's office, but only got the answering service. I'd have to call tomorrow.

After dinner I check my email for a bit and I'm pleasantly surprised to see that I already have a response about a car, so I email back making an appointment to meet this woman and her son the following morning to check it out. I wind my evening down with a book and a bath. Once everything is quiet, I find that I'm exhausted. I fall asleep hoping for a less eventful week.

The following morning I woke up giddy with the idea that I could have fresh coffee, and I decided to bake. I used Gran's old recipe for corn muffins and packed up half to bring over to Crystal and Jason. I was feeling less stiff today, which I took as a good sign. I used my new crème for my bruises, and was once again liberal with the makeup.

The woman I met about the car was extremely nice, even if her son was a little rude. He seemed very interested in making the transaction quick, which gave me a bit of pause at first. His mother, by contrast, seemed more concerned with making sure I was a nice girl who would take care of her car, which was a powder blue Volkswagen Golf, a few years old. She kept calling it her Rabbit, which seemed to annoy her son. I knew it would have amused Amelia greatly, and probably Pam, too, owing to the name's infamous association with a very different kind of high-performance machine.

The old woman explained to me that this was the old model name for basically the same car, by the same manufacturer, years and years ago. It had been her very first car, the first that was hers alone, which she and her husband had to scrimp and save for when her children were still young. She had absolutely adored it, and so had pretty much been buying updated versions of the same exact car ever since. I got the strong impression, by the son's irritation, that she shared this story a lot. It was new to me, and I found it charming, particularly the bit where he had called all automobiles "wabbits" until he was six. I took the car for a drive. It had a surprising amount of zip. She informed me proudly that it had never been in an accident, and I saw that the inspection was only a couple of months old.

The clincher for me was when she patted my arm as we pulled back in to the parking lot of the Briarwood Retirement Community. "I think it suits you nicely dear," she said with a fond little smile.

My impulse was to hand her a check on the spot, but I held myself back. I wanted to have a mechanic check it over, and the son emphasized that I'd need to pay with a bank check or a money order, which he was right to request. I phoned Tray Dawson, the mechanic in town, and he was free, so we rode over immediately. I told him I'd be driving it back and forth to New Orleans as well as around town, which had been its primary use before. He let me know that I'd probably need to replace the brake pads in the next sixth months or so, but otherwise he gave the car a clean bill of health. The son, whose name was Glenn, and I went straight over to the bank and I had a check drawn, and the title signed and notarized. I drove him and his mother Rose back to Briarwood in my new car. It was barely three o'clock and I had a major accomplishment under my belt for the day.

I felt incredibly relieved, and I took a picture of my new Rabbit and sent it off Jason, Amelia, and Lafayette. Rose was tickled that I was going to keep the name. I stood and chatted with her for about fifteen minutes once Glenn took off, after shaking my hand and promising his mother that he'd see her Sunday. He had to get back to work. He probably wasn't such a bad guy, just a busy one. I had Jason and Crystal's muffins in the rental car with me, and on a whim, I gave them over to Rose and she was delighted to have something to share around. Apparently they had a community kitchen, but it was very little used. I walked her inside and took a moment to fetch my flier down from the bulletin board, so I wouldn't get any other calls about a car. I'd found a perfect one.

Back in the parking lot, I locked up the Rabbit. I wanted to get Jason to meet me over in Shreveport so I could return the rental, and then give me a ride back here to mine. When he called me back, he said that would be no problem, though he wouldn't be getting out of work for a couple of hours. I had a bit of time to kill so I stopped back at Dr. Ludwig's office to request they send my records, and did a little bit of shopping.

I spent the evening and most of the day on Friday continuing to send my resume out to schools in New Orleans. I was aiming to get it finished by the end of the weekend, and was right on track come Saturday morning when my phone rang.

"Sookie? It's Esther Park," she said.

"Oh, good morning Missus Park, are you well?"

"Yes dear, I'm just fine, but I'm afraid I can't say the same for Adam Caloway, his father passed away last night."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that," I say, straining to remember who in the world is Adam Caloway. "Was it sudden?" I inquired politely.

"Yes, heart attack," she said.

"Oh, that's just awful," I repeat. "Will there be a service?"

"Oh yes dear, but not down here. His folks are over in Jackson. The reason I am calling is that we were wondering if you could take over his classes next week?" Oh. I wanted to cringe and do a little happy dance at the same time. Yay, income, but poor Caloway family.

"Well of course, I'd be glad to help out," I say.

"That's good then, I'll have him give you a call today to let you know what they're covering."

"Thank you for thinking of me, Missus Park, I'll wait for his call then."

"Of course Sookie, I'll talk to you soon," she says, and we said our goodbyes.

This was definitely the down side to substituting. People being absent from work is almost never for a nice reason. I received an email from Adam Caloway not long after hanging up with Mrs. Park, and discovered that he was a science teacher, which made things easy, really, because the lesson plans tended to follow the textbook very linearly. I didn't have the textbooks he was using, and he offered to leave his at the school office for me with his attendance book and a few other handouts he had prepared for the upcoming week, on his way out of town to go and join his family.

I thought of offering to go and pick them up from him, but I figured that seemed a bit forward. I decided that if I were going to have this gig for a bit that I would happily volunteer to do that for teachers who were ill, but not in situations like this, not that I was hoping or planning for a situation like this to arise again, but sometimes it happens. Oh well. I would not be intruding on Adam Caloway's grief today, so I waited an appropriate amount of time for him to make the drop off, and then I went and retrieved what he'd left for me later in the afternoon. People are up at the high school all day on Saturdays, between all the practices and club meetings and sports games.

In a small school like this, it's common for a teacher to have multiple subjects. Mr. Caloway had chemistry and physics. He taught two normal sections of each, and one advanced section of each, so he saw all the juniors and seniors every day. The primary difference between the two sections was the depth with which they approached the math and the formulas. Since that's my forte, I was looking forward to those lessons in particular. The notes that he left for me were very extensive. He had even marked his attendance book with nicknames (Jenna not Jen nor Jennifer) and tricky name pronunciations (See-ya-bairt. I was thankful for that one, it was spelled as if you'd say it "Sig-bert"). What a thorough guy. The more I got into it, the more excited I got.

As the afternoon wore on I found myself very torn between wanting to finish my school list, to hasten my chance of coming into classes of my own, and studying up for subbing this week. I ended up switching off until I fell asleep around eleven. Another wild night at the Stackhouse homestead. Truthfully? I was pretty darned content with plain old uneventful.

Sunday morning I had finally managed to get myself to church. My face was definitely showing improvement, which is good, because I don't like to wear a lot of makeup to church. A lot of the older gals are not of this same opinion, as I can personally attest. After the service I found myself quite pink in the cheeks. It was partially from half a dozen women's fuchsia lipstick, and partially from where they'd each tried to daintily wipe it away. I was quite happy to stay and visit with a lot of Gran's old friends over the coffee hour that followed the service.

I got invited to lunch with one woman who Gran had used to play cards with. She was quite determined to introduce me to her grandson. I smiled politely each time she managed to work him adroitly into the conversation. I finally had to hint that I was not really looking for a man when she forsook subtlety and offered to have me over the next time she could get him down for a Sunday dinner. She took it in spirits, and told me she would "keep it in her hat" for the time being. I headed back to the farmhouse later in the afternoon feeling for all the world like I was home.

I spoke with Lafayette that night to tell him of the exciting week that I had planned, and he was thrilled right along with me. He got coy after that, and I managed to wrangle out of him, albeit after not a whole lot of prodding, that he'd met a guy over the weekend that he really liked. "Boyfriend material," was what he said. We gabbed for a little while about how he should best approach the early phase of wanting to get to know the guy better.

"Clearly you just need to get his grandmother to set you two up for a lunch date," I say, harkening back to what I told him of my afternoon.

"Aw, Sookie," he says, giving it a little inflection. "I don't know that your methods will work for me. I don't play a very good damsel in distress besides," he finishes. I can almost hear the back of his hand come up to his forehead as he pretends to swoon.

"Oh stop it, that wasn't deliberate."

"And how is Mister Eric Northman, while we's on the subject?" he drawls.

"He's... quite busy with working, I suppose. It's not quite like that. He's just... and I'm... He's so far away. Even if I were in NOLA, he'd still be far away. I don't really know what it is, if it's even anything. He's just carrying on being kind to me, since our whole whatever it was. I don't really think it's anything," I babble.

"Oh yeah honey, that sounds _exactly_ like it isn't even anything," he says, disbelievingly.

I give him a sigh. "I thought we were talking about you," I say.

"Alright, we'll talk about me. I'm thinking I'll just ask him to dinner. Nice and direct-like."

I listened for a while longer while he debated the merits of direct versus indirect approaches to the newfound object of his infatuation. I certainly hoped it would work out for the best. If anyone deserved a good man, it was Lafayette. We said our good nights a while later and I turned in early. I had class in the morning! It ended up being a good thing that I did turn in early, since I was so excited that I kept myself awake for a solid hour anyway.

The week went incredibly well. On Monday, the principal made a point of coming to each of the classes throughout the day and introducing me, telling the students that Mr. Caloway had had a death in the family, but wanted them to stay on track with his lesson plan for the week. I remembered from my own high school career that substitute teachers were commonly regarded as study-hall monitors, if they were lucky, so I appreciated her greeting the students along with me and letting them know that I'd actually be teaching. There were a couple of class-clowns, but overall, I didn't have much hassle.

On Tuesday, one of the students was bold enough to ask me about my face at the beginning of class. It was one of the jokers, and he asked if we were going to need to get a substitute for the substitute. I was still showing the marks of my accident, albeit I was pleased with my healing so far. I just told them that I'd gotten caught behind a door, when my friend flung it open, and they all had a laugh as they visualized a far more amusing scene than had actually transpired. There weren't any more questions about it, so the adolescent rumour mill must not have been able to make much of the story. I was happy with that, it had been one of my few apprehensions about coming in so soon.

Wednesday I got a call from a school in New Orleans inviting me to come down the following Monday to interview for an immediate opening teaching pre-Algebra, and I was ecstatic. Anita Baker had left the message during the morning and I called her back at lunchtime to set my appointment for two o'clock the following Monday. I called Amelia to ask if I could stay over on Sunday night, and she suggested I come up on Saturday instead and we could just have the weekend. It sounded like a great plan.

I stayed on track with the lesson plans in each of the classes, and was able to stick to Mr. Caloway's normal schedule of review and quiz days on Friday. We spent half the period going back over the key points from the week, and any questions they'd had about their homework. Then they were given very easy quizzes which they most likely could have passed even if they only paid attention to the review and nothing else I'd said for the last four days. I wasn't sure if they'd been dumbed down for the week, or if that was the norm, but I figured they at least served to drive all the main points home. I went ahead and half-graded them, putting in check-marks or notes only where important information was missed, which was rarely. I'd leave Mr. Caloway to look them over, but hopefully I'd lightened his load a bit.

My borrowed students all left in a chorus of "Bye Miss Stackhouse!" and "See ya Miss S's," at the end of each class. Well, not all of them really, but more than a handful. I felt the love. I marked the last of the papers and organized all the week's materials into a box to leave for Mr. Caloway. I met the principal in the office as I was departing and we had a nice talk about the school and how I'd done. I left feeling comfortable, and pretty confident that I'd be asked back if there were a need. I also took a moment to say goodbye to Mrs. Park and let her know I'd miss her Sunday, since I'd be in New Orleans.

I definitely fretted over my outfit choices for Monday as I packed up that night. I settled on a navy skirt-suit with a pink shirt, and navy heels, and then I packed a grey suit anyway. I got a good night's sleep and my drive was uneventful. The Rabbit was working out just fine. I called Amelia as I pulled up to her apartment and she came bounding up to meet me while I was still pulling my things out of the car.

"I want to hug you, but I don't want to hurt you!" she exclaimed.

I gave her a long but gentle hug. "Just don't squeeze," I warned. At Dr. Ludwig's instruction, I'd removed the tape a few days ago. I'd still be another month before I was right as rain, she had estimated, but leaving the compression tape on can cause other issues with your breathing, or something.

"So, I have news," she says.

"Can the news accompany lunch?" I ask, "Because I am starving." Actually I was tired, but in lieu of sleep, food would suffice.

"Yes, sure, come on I'll help with your things then we can go," she says, taking my little suitcase, which I'd re-dubbed my weekend bag. I carry my big purse and a smaller one as I trail along in her wake. She was practically tapping her foot while she waited for me to tuck my things away into her spare bedroom.

"Amelia, just tell me" I say, smiling at her impatience as I emerge.

"No, we need to be situated."

"Alright," I reply, accepting her need to be settled down somewhere before she starts to share.

I duck into the bathroom to do a modicum of freshening up, and as I follow her back down to the street matching her quick pace as we head to whatever restaurant she has in mind, she asks me idly about the drive and about my week.

"I have to say, I really loved being back in a classroom. I don't know if I just lucked out with the kids, or if the guy I was subbing for has them so well in order, or if I just missed it so much, but it was just wonderful," I gush.

"Yeah, yeah. That's great," she says, as the server shows us to our table. "Okay, ready?"

I chuckle at her eagerness. I'm fine with it. It's been all about me for quite long enough. "Ready," I assure her with a nod.

"I met your friend David Threadgill this week," she says with satisfaction.

"Oh? He's not really my friend, I've only met him once," I start to say.

"Ask me _how_ I met him," she says.

"_How_ did you meet him?" I comply.

"Through _Tara_," she says, holding up a finger to stall me. "Specifically, I had lunch with them yesterday." I raise my eyebrows at her, waiting for the finish. "Apparently they are a couple," she continues as my eyes widen, "And not just dating, they're moving in together. She wanted to ask me about any properties I know of that might work for them."

"No!" I exclaim. It's both my genuine reaction and the one she expects.

"Yes! Isn't that bizarre?"

"Very! I didn't even know she was dating anyone at all."

"Well from what you said, he's right up her alley."

"Meaning?"

"I don't know, first husband material, I guess." I scowl a bit at that. I'm not really a fan of the casualness that people have adopted toward broken marriages. It's so unfortunate when it happens. It's sad to hear it mentioned as a practical certainty.

"That's just bizarre," is what I comment, instead. It really is. Small world? I guess not that small, I mean they work together, sort of. At the same place, anyway. Even still, it's an odd coincidence.

"Anyway, so we were talking about you," she continues, and I pull a face. "Don't look at me like that, we're your friends, we care. We talk about our concern for you when you're not around. Get over it." I give a little huff in response to that and she continues, "So we were talking about you and Bill and getting hurt and what a first class a-hole he is," she says, and I roll my eyes. "And that's when David finally connected the Sookie dots and realized from where he knows you."

"Oh god," I groan, cringing. I had kind of hoped that Tara would never find out that I was the sometimes dinner companion of Eric Northman. She never would have imparted what she had if she had realized there was a connection there, and she might be dead on right in being upset about it. I still wasn't sure on that one. "Did she freak out?"

"That's the thing, she didn't. She was pleased, like, all friends together, and then he was all sorts of complimentary about you and Eric and that Pam woman."

"That's..."

"Really weird, right?" Amelia finishes. I just nod. Really, really weird.

"Maybe she was putting up a front?" I ask, but she just shrugs. "So are you helping them find a place?" I continue, because I'm frankly not sure what else I can add to the conversation at this point.

"What? No. I'm not a realtor, and I definitely don't want to get too steeped in helping them search. I don't even have time for that. We ended up just talking about neighbourhoods and things."

"Well I guess... good for Tara? I mean he didn't seem that terrible when I met him. He's a little rude, but not unmanageably so."

"Yeah, that's the impression I got. He was a little condescending until Tara name-dropped my father, and then he seemed a lot more delighted about making my acquaintance," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Thanks Tara," I murmur, and it's Amelia's turn to nod. "So Eric and Pam had the right of it, he's mostly just into being rich and well connected," I surmise.

"That's the impression I got, yeah. Like I said, he suits her perfectly."

"That's not nice, she's not as bad as that."

"She _is_ and we love her anyway." That makes me sigh. I guess it is true, though. "So are you going to tell Eric?" she asks.

"Uh, I don't know? Why?"

"Well, it could affect him," she says.

"I don't see how. Seems like it would only make him dislike either of them more than he does, and that's not particularly relevant to his business."

"It sort of lends validity to her claim though, I mean she's obviously got a very vested interest in David's success, even beyond the job she's doing. Eric should know who the players are if she's still working against him."

I smirk. "I think you're getting way too into this."

"It's like being privy to a whole network of intrigue, while being simultaneously completely unaffected by it myself. What's not to interest?" she says blithely.

"Well," I hedge. "As far as I know, he's already acting on the information he has. I guess I'll mention it if it comes up, but I really don't like to be involved in this stuff, and I don't really want him to mistake me on this point."

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"I don't want to be in a position where I receive information that he would benefit from knowing...I don't want him to ever expect that, or ever have the chance to imply that it would be helpful...I just don't want to be involved."

"I can see that."

"Good."

"Is that because you'd do it?" she asks.

"I don't know, I guess. He's done, and he's doing, so much for me. I'd feel obligated to help him if I ever could, but I wouldn't want it to be at the expense of someone else, more than it already has."

"I can understand that. So you're still talking then? He didn't just do his whole rescue thing and then ride off into the sunset on you?"

"We're still talking. Well, we've talked a couple of times. I think you could say that technically, he is still doing the whole rescue thing. It's really weird."

"Weird how?"

I stop to explain about Mr. Cataliades helping me through the legal stuff with Bill, and that holds us up for a while, as it's all new information to her. She's got the same question I have about the supposed joint savings account, and agrees with me that if I take anything from him, it should be the full cost of my medical bills.

"But part of me doesn't want to take anything at all," I say. "Part of me feels like I should suck it up just to prove I don't need him for anything."

"Honest response?" she asks. She's preparing me for a hard truth. I gave her a nod to go ahead. "It sounds like pride. In fact, if Gran were here, I'm pretty sure that what she'd say exactly is, 'While pride increases, fortune declines'." Oh, that was low. I narrow my eyes at her, not truly mad, as she well knows, but to show her that invoking Gran to bolster her advice is a dirty trick. "Be pragmatic, Sookie, that's all I'm saying," she finishes.

"I will take this under advisement," I say. She's made a fair point.

"Well what does Eric say?" she asks.

"Amelia, cool it with the 'Eric' okay?" My patience just slipped out the back door. "I didn't just get out whatever that was with Bill to be runnin' off to somebody else and having' them make all my decisions for me. I'll decide what is best."

"Ah, Sook, that's not what I meant. I'm just being..." she trails off. "I just think it's sweet. His concern for you, and the care he's taking. I didn't mean that you should let him rule you, just that I bet he'd like it if you asked."

"I think he's just a problem solver by his nature," say, making no concessions about his motivations.

"That seems accurate."

"Right, so it's not entirely clear if whatever he's doing is_ for_ me, or if this is just what he _does_. I just stumbled into his way."

"Ah."

"I mean I think there's something there, but it's just not clear the extent of it, and as things stand, there's no point in even thinking much more about it," I say and then continue, "You know, what happened to my friend Amelia who just wants to hear about how big _his thing_ is?" I finish, flustered.

"Is it big then?" she asks tentatively, a small grin creeping across her face. I can't help but smile back impishly as I give a slow nod.

We decided to head back to her apartment and just hang out for the evening. We got into our 'jammies and watched movies, ate ice cream, and just talked about our weeks and our friends. It was a true girls' night. Amelia had fresh sheets out for me on the bed and as I was making it up I was thinking that if I wanted any more of nights like these, I was going to have to get down here in a hurry. Quaint and quiet as it is, no one will ever be willing to visit me in Bon Temps. This was kind of fine in the interim, of course, since I wouldn't even have a bed to offer Amelia if she did come. I was looking forward to getting my per diem check from the school. It wouldn't be much, but I think I might buy an air mattress or something, both to tide me over, and to keep for guests. I settled into her dreamy guest bed thinking that Gran's lumpy old mattress just wasn't going to cut it for much longer.

Sunday morning brought us to brunch at a new place that Amelia had heard about from one of her Women Entrepreneur friends. It promised Eggs Benedict made to order that would knock my socks off, so I was thrilled. We watched mesmerised for a few minutes as the sous chef whipped up another batch of hollandaise sauce from scratch while waiting for our respective pots of coffee and tea to be served. I heard a squeal of excitement over the din of the dining room, the siren sound of old female friends meeting. I looked around with a smile to see where it was coming from. I hadn't expected it was directed at me, I'm just fond of seeing warm meetings like that. It's not rude or staring or anything, I just look on in the same way that I might if a cute kid walked into the room. So I was surprised to find an older woman fast approaching Amelia and I.

"Is that Sookie Stackhouse?" she beamed. I knew her, I know I did. I just wasn't coming up with her name.

"It's Patti Parker!" she exclaims graciously. Oh right, Patti, from the garden tour. "Mitz, I told you this was a popular place, didn't I?" she's saying to the friend following in her wake.

"Patti, hi there," I say, standing up. She gives me a quick peck on the cheek as she grasps my arm lightly so I return the gesture.

"It's so nice to run in to you here, have you just sat down?" she asks, and then before I can stop myself, my courtesies take over and I've invited them to join us, meeting Amelia's bemused expression with a radiant smile. Patti is already signalling the wait staff to bring us over two more chairs.

"Mitz, this is Sookie Stackhouse from Bon Temps, up near Shreveport, she's a friend of Inge's grandson. Sookie, this is our friend Melissa Pirrie," Patti says. I guess by 'our' friend, she means hers and Inge Northman's.

"Mitz or Mitzy, please," the other woman says, taking my hand.

"Well then, Mitzy, Patti, this is Amelia Broadway, from right here in town," I finish, scooting back so that Amelia can have her hand shaken.

"Broadway, how glamorous," beams Patti, greeting Amelia.

"How do you do?" asks Mitzy Pirrie.

Decorum dutifully shown we settle back down with our new friends.

"Well I've just been out in my garden non-stop for the last two weeks after that tour, how about you Sookie?" Patti asks me promptly.

We fall into easy conversation after that. We don't stay on gardening long once Amelia admits she doesn't have one. Instead we talk about the city, about moving house, about restaurants, the food they're serving, recipes. Patti Parker seems to be a force in her own right. She guides our chatter seamlessly from topic to topic, engaging all three of us on every point, doing it all with a guileless and unstudied manner that keeps us all at our ease for the next ninety minutes. I had noticed it a couple of weeks ago when we'd met. She was a sure fire Southern Woman, and no mistake. I bet she would be an absolute riot with a couple of mint juleps in her. She had quite a kick off just the mimosas we're sipping.

"Now Sookie, are you in town for long this time?" Patti asks.

"I'm afraid not, I have an interview with the Beecher School tomorrow and then I'm heading back up north," I reply.

"Oh yes! Sookie is a school teacher," Patti explains to Mitzy "Mathematics, wasn't it?" she glances back to me to clarify, and I give her a nod.

"Ooo, you wretched little thing," Mitzy scolds me with a playful tone. "I just hated my Maths teacher when I was in school! Sums on the blackboard and woe betide you if you got one wrong. Mean old nuns, that's what we had in my day," she smirks.

I grin at her. I get that a lot. Not necessarily the nuns bit, but it seems everyone has an evil math teacher somewhere in their history. "I can only do my best to make it fun," I say primly in reply. "Math gets a very bad rap, you know. It's quite unjustified."

"Oh, it wasn't as bad as I make it out to be. I'm sure you know as well as I do that it's not the subject but the teacher that makes the impact," Mitzy continues.

"I certainly do. I was lucky to have a lot of great teachers myself."

"And I am certain they would be proud to see you follow in their footsteps," Mitzy finishes with a smile.

Patti and Amelia had little else to add on the subject of education for the moment, and so Patti grasped the conversational rudder once again and steered us towards talk of a news article she had read.

"That was certainly surreal," Amelia was saying sometime later. We'd parted company with the two women after brunch. Patti had given me her contact card and taken my number, telling me she intended on phoning me up for lunch the next time she was in Shreveport. They'd had a lovely time with "their new young friends". Amelia had given both women one of her calling cards. I felt embarrassed not to have one of my own to share. Maybe I should get some printed sometime. Apparently the one thing my new phone does not do is bridge that wide a generation gap.

"Why Miss Broadway, did you not enjoy brunch with the society women?" I tease.

"I did actually. That Patti's a pip," Amelia says.

"She is, isn't she? I only had a small taste when we met, she was sure out in full force today though."

"So she's friends with Eric's grandma? That's how you know her?"

"Yeah," I say, and then realize I have to explain all about the chance circumstances that lead to our spending the afternoon with Eric's grandparents, and of course, Patti Parker.

"That all sounds incredibly adorable," she says dryly after I've finished.

"It sort of was actually. The women were all over him the entire time. His grandmother is very sweet. She was real grateful to spend the day with him. I don't think he sees his family much at all."

"If they're anything like mine, I figure I can understand that. They're not all Patti's in that set."

"I think they might be, actually. Mitzy was cute too. Maybe over seventy they all turn kindly and amusing, at least the women," I ponder. "Maybe it's old women in general. Gran's friends have been nothing short of adorable as well."

"Something to look forward to, then," Amelia continues in her sardonic tone.

"Ah, you'll make a wonderful old lady, Amelia. You'll have get a proper house at some point so you have a yard to scare the whippersnappers out of," I tease. She finally breaks and joins me in laughing at the idea that she could one day be the neighbourhood witch, scaring all the children.

Back at Amelia's that night, I was modelling the grey and the blue suits for her, and we tried to decide what I should do with my hair when my phone rang. Amelia caught my smile when I checked and saw it was Eric. She beat a hasty retreat out of the guest room before I could shoo her away.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Good evening, Miss Stackhouse," he says smoothly.

"Why good evening Mister Northman," I reply, all delighted surprise. I was glad to hear from him, and not a catastrophe in sight, even.

"I was just wondering what you're up to," he says.

"Aw Eric, were you thinking of me?" I coo, half joking.

"Yes," he answers simply. My smile widens a bit. I wonder if he can sense it.

"So, what's new?" he asks, his tone a little lighter.

"Well, I got a car, got it registered, I subbed all last week teaching high school science, and this morning I had brunch with your grandmother's friends Patti and Mitzy," I report.

"Are you in New Orleans then?"

"Yup, I have an inter-view tomor-row," I half sing it as I answer him. I'm really excited.

"What do you think of your chances?" he asks.

"I'm not sure really. I know it's an immediate opening, and it's for pre-algebra, which is just regular algebra, only we get sneaky about the variables. But it's right in the middle school level," I rattle off.

"Sounds perfect," he says.

"It sure would be. I've missed it so much. I don't think even I realized until last week just how much."

"Well then I hope you get it. Any other leads? Have you started looking for a place yet?"

"I really want to find a job first, and then situate as is convenient to that. Also I'd like to have a job before I take on rent."

"Ah, speaking of that. How are things going with Cataliades?"

"Nothing new to report there, really, just what I told you last week. I think we're waiting to hear back from his guy at this point. He's offered me money, in exchange for basically submitting a document that says the whole thing was an accident and I do not believe he had any ill intent, nor should be prosecuted. I'm not real clear on what the ramifications of that would be, in terms of the protective order, which I do want to keep. The amount he offered was not equal to the hospital bill, so we are waiting. I do not think it's so unfair to hope for that, if I decide to take anything at all, do you think?"

"It's not unfair, no."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be drawing it out, or anything. I'm sure it's costing you a lot with all the billable hours and such. I'd like to repay you for that, if you'd allow it."

"I will not."

"Eric..."

"Sookie, please allow that it's for my own peace of mind. Now, tell me how you ended up at brunch with my grandmother's friends," he says.

Stymied, I let him know how the two old women happened upon us this morning, and all about the amusing time we had with them.

"You should call your grandmother," I blurt out as I finish. "I bet she'd be glad to hear from you."

"Mm. Maybe this week."

"Well, either Patti or Mitzy is bound to tell her they ran into us, since Patti knows that we are friends. So I'm sure she'll be thinking of you. It'd probably make her day."

"I'll call then," he concedes. He sounds a bit begrudging.

"Eric, I hope it's not too personal to ask, but why don't you like them? They seemed so nice." I hear him sigh.

"Broadly?" he starts. "I imagine for the same sorts of reasons that your friend Amelia uses her mother's maiden name instead of her father's." I nodded, though he can't see me. I'd gathered that much. "Specifically? It's because I don't really care to hear any more about the hotels I should be buying, the friends' granddaughters I should be marrying, the clubs I should be joining, the plans I should be making, or the decisions I _should_ have allowed to be made for me."

"Oh Eric," I say, soothingly after a long pause. "I wish I could give you a hug right now."

"I don't need a hug," he gripes brusquely.

"No, but, don't you want one?"

"Perhaps," he allows. "Perhaps more than just a hug." It's like I can hear the grin coming back on his face at that last bit.

"Well I'm sure our paths will cross again one of these days."

"If I had known you were in Nola this weekend, it would have been today. I could have saved you from doddering old biddies and the risk of heart disease from rich French sauces."

"Is this like a thing?" I ask, completely offhand.

"The saving you thing? No, it's a joke, which you started last week, about always being in a disaster."

"No, I meant this thing with us thing."

"Ah," he pauses. "I thought this was implied."

"Perhaps the inclination," I say hesitantly, "but you are way over there, and I am way over here."

"Not always. I'll be out in a couple of weeks. I'd like to see you then, if you're able, just so that's clear."

"I think that can be arranged," I say. I cannot stop smiling if you paid me.

"Good then. I'll give you a call later in the week?" he says.

"Yes, and tell Inge I say hello," I say, reminding him. He's rolling his eyes, I know.

"Goodnight Sookie," he says in mock exasperation.

"Goodnight Eric," I say, hanging up. I squeak with pleasure, and Amelia appears a moment later, curious.

"It's a thing," I say, dismissively, though still smilingly. She rolls her eyes with a grin and a shake of her head, and says goodnight as well. Good, good day.

The following afternoon I had my meeting with Anita Baker. I like to think it went well. We went over my experience, which unfortunately did not take very long. We spent a lot more time discussing my philosophy on teaching, what qualities I felt were most important in a teacher, and how I tried to exemplify these both in and out of the classroom. I reiterated when she asked that I was available immediately, and that I was filling my time substituting in the meanwhile. The only sticky point came when she asked why I had moved to Seattle and back so quickly. I hadn't really prepared a diplomatic answer to that. Big oversight on my part.

"I guess I could be evasive and just say personal reasons," I began, drawing a deep breath. "But I'll be honest with you ma'am. Woman to woman," I glance down at her wedding ring momentarily, "I didn't realize I was with a bad man until that mistake was already made. All I can do now is move forward. It's certainly not a circumstance that I intend to allow to affect my career in teaching." It wasn't brilliant, but it was honest, and the best I had. Maybe I'd blown it right there. I wouldn't find out today. She responded with a nod of understanding and then changed the subject to how I cope with disobedience in the classroom. For the record, I expect manners, and I'm liberal with the after school detentions. I tend to stick around for an hour anyway to do my grading and offer extra help. Mrs. Baker let me know that this is generally an acceptable practice, however all incidents require parental contact. As a private school, they were very big on communicating with parents. Many of them felt they were paying for that degree of participation. This sounded fine to me. I'd always welcome concerned parents over disinterested ones.

After a tour of the school I went back to Amelia's to collect my things and change out of the suit. I'd gone with the navy as planned. I gave her a call to let her know I was leaving and locked up. She'd left me a set of keys. She said to just keep them, but promised to make me drive the five hours in case she ever had an emergency. I had laughed at that, and put them on my key ring.

On Tuesday I finally finished sending letters and resumes to all of the schools in New Orleans. I felt pretty accomplished about that. Next step, wait for them to call me. The only call that I got on Tuesday was from Mrs. Park, asking if I could sub in the elementary school the following day. That was pretty uneventful. I had the momentous task of collecting some homeworks and doing a few pages in various workbooks with the same class all day long. The last hour turned into basically free play. They played hangman on the board and did word puzzles. I stopped at the garden centre on my way home and got some bulbs to plant and a new pair of gloves and a new trowel. I'd been out to the shed, finally. Most of Gran's old tools were rusting away, heavy old iron things that they were. Cleaning out in there would have to wait until I was fit and healthy again. Even the couple of hours that I spent hunched over in the garden on Thursday bordered on over-doing it.

The other crummy thing about that afternoon was that Anita Baker called to thank me for coming down to interview, but also to tell me that they'd decided to hire someone else. I let myself feel bad about it for an hour, and then I went ahead and I contacted my old boss with the Orleans Parish district schools and let her know that I was back and looking for immediate, full-time employment anywhere in middle or high schools. She said she'd call me if she heard anything. I'd been dragging my feet on that one, because a private school, where the students were of above-average eagerness to be in attendance, had seemed like a more rewarding prospect. Turns out I just wanted to teach, anywhere.

Friday was a much better day. I got a call in the wee hours, asking me to cover for a math teacher at the high school. She had come down with a bug overnight and was not going to get in. I phoned her and then drove over to her house to retrieve her lesson books and attendance sheets. She left me the keys to her desk, and said I could just store everything in there for the weekend and drop the keys at the office. The classes went by well, and I got two calls during the day inviting me for interviews in New Orleans next week, both at private schools. One was a very prestigious school, at that.

Hestia Academy is an all-girls Catholic school. It's one of the oldest schools in the country, period, let alone the state. Their faculty was mixed, men and women. I read in the overview on their website that while the girls all took theology courses each term as part of their required curriculum, the school believed in exposing the students to diversity, both within the student body and the faculty. Many Catholic schools may prefer, but certainly don't require, Catholic educators. Reading between the lines, I figured that to be the case here. There's a large Catholic faction here in Louisiana, but it's still second to the variations on the theme of Protestant. Myself, I'm a Baptist, and a spiritual person at that. The rest is just particulars, as Gran would have said. I hoped I'd be found suitable.

The second school, Bartle, is a four year prep school which seemed equally rigorous, if not near as well known as Hestia. It was co-ed and secular, and they were looking to replace a woman going out on maternity leave in six weeks. That one would be a challenge, because of course it would be on me to finish out the school year and get them through finals - having taught them nothing for the rest of the year. My interviews were set for Tuesday and Wednesday, which was not the most convenient thing, but Hestia was worth the inconvenience, if there was even the slightest chance. I called Amelia to ask if I could stay over again, though not the whole weekend. I'd come Monday Night and leave Wednesday again. She said it was perfectly fine, reminding me that she'd offered me to stay there all the time, yet again.

Eric called that night, and again on Saturday. I finally remembered to tell him about Tara and David Threadgill, but he seemed disinterested. I figured I had pegged it right, and it just lowered either of them further in his esteem. He'd wished me his sincere good luck for my coming week. I hoped I would have it.


	10. Old Queen

A/N Thank you as always for your kind words!

* * *

><p>My interview at the Bartle School on Tuesday went well. The problem was that it was a very temporary situation. They needed someone only for the last eight weeks of the spring term, and the first six weeks in the fall. They did not have a summer term. They were not able to offer a full time position extending beyond the return of the currently-pregnant teacher. I had the impression that they were truly displeased with the situation, but of course the woman was entitled to her leave, and one can hardly schedule a baby's arrival into the world. Technically, you could try. The fact that her actual due date was in the general ball park of the summer break means that she had probably done her best.<p>

The school was clearly eager to work out their problem, because they offered me the job that day. I was tempted to take it, even though I knew that rationally I'd become a less desirable candidate in the eyes of other schools. Most people looking to hire you to begin in fall expect you to actually be available to start then. I ended up asking for a week to consider the offer, being honest about my reservations to make the commitment to them. They understood, and that's how I left it. I called my old boss that afternoon to discuss it. She was saying that I would probably be able to pick up summer school classes at one of the public schools, but the fall arrangement was something that no one would want to touch, if they could possibly avoid it.

Amelia was in the middle of a very busy week, so I went ahead and stopped for some groceries on the way back to her apartment that night, and then made dinner for us. I was trying to stay positive, but failing. Finding the right job is kind of agonizing, and I felt like I had a couple of strikes against me going in. I'd worn my grey suit today, but I was going to wear the navy again tomorrow, with a lighter blue shirt. You could call it my power suit. I only had the two, and then a black one that was pretty funereal. I usually just wear blouses and skirts or pants to work. There was a fine pink line across my forehead still, the only visible trace remaining from my...from the incident with Bill. Easily visible, anyway. My ribs were a whole other story. They were still fading like an alien sunset in a weird mesh of purple, yellow, and green. I was in the powder room with the curling iron when Amelia got home. I was testing hairstyles.

"What do you think of this?" I ask, emerging to show off a loose updo with my hair sweeping my forehead to conceal the last of my injuries.

"I think it's an interview, not a date," she responds wearily. She had a long day. She wasn't really meaning to give me attitude.

"It's an _important_ interview though," I say. "Hestia is somewhere I could stay until I retire. This could be my whole life, Amelia. I still can't believe they even called me."

"Bartle was a bust then?" she asks in reply.

"It was and it wasn't. They offered me the temporary post, but the timing is even worse than they hinted over the phone," I say, and pause to explain to her all the details of the temporary position.

"I told them I would take a week to consider it, but I don't think I can agree. Taking it on could end up biting me in the ass if I'm not available when a permanent offer comes along," I finish.

"That sucks," she offers. Stressed and tired Amelia is not particularly loquacious, but it was still a spot on summary.

I just nod at that, and tell her there's dinner, which serves to pep her up a bit for the rest of the evening.

"I think just wear your hair down," she says an hour later while we tidy up her kitchen. "You're interviewing at a school, not an office building. Plus, it seems more low-maintenance. Also, you might give the wrong impression if you appear too focused on your appearance. What are you going to say about Seattle?" Focusing on my appearance was being a fine distraction thank you very much. Now I have to worry about how I'm going to put my foot in my mouth about the Bill thing.

"I don't know," I answer. "I want to be honest, but I don't want to get into the details. I'm not sure how to say it half-way without coming off looking flighty. I certainly don't want to play up the fact that we were living in sin."

"Oh honestly Sookie. Living in sin?"

"Amelia, I have no idea who I will be interviewing with. It's a Catholic school. For all I know, I could be interviewing with Sister Aloysius."

"I have no idea who that is."

"That mean nun that Meryl Streep played in Doubt."

"Ugh, she was ghastly."

"Right, and how do you think she would respond to my explaining that I was so overjoyed to be living with my boyfriend out of wedlock that I completely ignored all the warning signs that he was a big, big butthead?"

"I think it is possible that you are overreacting right now."

"Of course I am overreacting! This is a big deal!"

"Okay, first of all, this isn't the nineteen fifties," she starts. The movie and the play were set in the sixties, but I wasn't going to interrupt for that. "Second of all, if it were that kind of place, they wouldn't even be interviewing non-Catholic teachers."

I had to stop her there though. "They don't know I'm not Catholic."

"Sookie, you told me the head of their math department is listed as Berakhiah Horrowitz. I am pretty sure we can take that as evidence that your not walking in there with a rosary around your neck isn't going to stop them in their tracks." Okay fair point. Actually it was one of mine from when we'd spoken a couple of days ago. I had checked their faculty webpage. That was unquestionably a Jewish name.

A waved her on, as she clearly wasn't done.

"Third then. Suppose you're right, and they do judge you totally harshly for making a mistake in your personal life. Is that really the environment that you want to work in anyway?"

"Since I don't plan on getting myself into any situation that won't hold up to scrutiny in the future, that hardly matters."

"Of course it does. Even if you do succeed in living a life entirely of virtue from this day forward, you don't actually want to be surrounded by people at work who are constantly looking over your shoulder and passing judgments that in no way effect your ability to educate."

"Maybe they're right do to so, I mean, we are shaping young minds. They have the right to assay us. Maybe I'm not good enough to be applying there even excluding Bill and Seattle and everything else."

"Sookie."

"What?"

"Stop freaking out."

I look at her helplessly. It's kind of impossible to do as she asks, however much I know she's right to make the request. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment and give her a nod.

"I think you should say that you discovered your fiancé was being unfaithful shortly after you moved together for his work, and leave it at that. The fiancé thing is only a tiny stretch of the truth since, the ring, and stating it like that leaves your actions entirely unquestionable," she says.

"I don't really want to say he was my fiancé though."

"It sounds a lot better than 'boyfriend', or God forbid 'partner'. It also totally justifies the fact that you were living together, if they're so conservative that they would care."

"I guess. I'm just so relieved to have dodged that bullet, that I don't want to bring it up."

"It's up to you but give it some thought, so you're not caught off guard again."

I'd confessed to her my belief that I'd made a misstep in how I answered that question in my previous interview. She was right, I wanted to be perfect.

I had a hard time getting to sleep that night, I was just so anxious. I woke up to find Amelia brewing coffee for me. She gave me a little smile in greeting and went back to getting ready for her day. Before she left for work, she came over and gave me a tight hug, around my shoulders, not my ribs.

"You're going to do great. Call me when you're finished," she said, and then was out the door.

I showered and dried my hair and applied a bit of makeup. I painted my nails with clear polish, and watched the news while they dried. I dressed. I put a spare copy of my resume into a folder and carried it with my small purse down into the car. I checked three times to make sure my cell phone was silenced, and then I drove over to Hestia. I wasn't sure about parking, so I found a spot a block over and walked to the main entrance. I was five minutes early, which I thought exhibited an appropriate amount of keen without appearing overbearing. I waited in a wooden chair like a girl on discipline until a smiling man came to meet me. He was probably about fifty or so, and wore a suit and tie. He introduced himself to me as Douglas Salva and asked me to call him Doug, and showed me back to his office where a woman named Deborah Wing was waiting for us. He explained that he was the Vice President of the school in full, which comprised the elementary as well as the high school, and that his job was mainly as an administrator. Deborah Wing was a Dean in the high school, or the upper school, as she said.

Our meeting went well. I learned that they were considering adding a new math teacher who would cross over between the upper and lower schools, teaching the seventh and eighth grades, which were split. Perfect. They believed it would be positive for the students, in that it smoothed the transition between the two schools, and in addition would relieve some of the strain on the more advanced teachers in the upper school. Most of our meeting was spent with them conveying to me the school's philosophy and methods, and I tried to ask leading and intelligent questions to help me form a good picture. We talked about me only briefly in Doug's office, and after about forty minutes, Ms. Wing excused herself. Doug took me on a brief tour of the upper school, which ended at the office of Barry Horrowitz. That's how Berakhiah introduced himself.

Doug sat mostly quiet while Barry and I settled in to discussing me, and discussing the actual teaching. I was pleased to be able to provide him with one of the extra copies of my resume I'd brought. He told me about the position as he envisioned it, the course work. It was at the upper end of what I'd been teaching before, but I could certainly handle it. He did ask about my employment history, and he did ask why I'd left the Parish school in December. I gave a rueful little smile and the answer that Amelia had come up with. Barry just nodded and moved on to inquiring about my tutoring, noting that the school did allow their teachers to tutor outside of school hours, but not students of the school itself. That seemed like a reasonable policy to me. It really wouldn't do to have any excuse for favouritism if any teachers were also privately employed by certain students' families.

After another hour, Doug and I left Barry's office with handshakes all around. Barry had said it seemed like it could be a good fit, which was encouraging and completely noncommittal all at the same time. Very diplomatic. Doug walked me back to the front entrance.

"It's been a pleasure, Miss Stackhouse, you'll be hearing from us soon. Mrs. Pirrie certainly has a good eye."

"Mrs. Pirrie?" I ask, letting a touch of my confusion show.

"Melissa Pirrie sits on the Board of Trustees for the school."

"Mitzy?" I query. She's the only Melissa Pirrie I know. What?

"Ah, yes. Mrs. Pirrie and I spoke last week and she recommended I get in touch with you. I must say, I'm glad I did. This new position could be very good for us. Barry is quite excited at the prospect."

And I'm agog. "Mr. Salva...Doug," I stammer. "I had no idea I'd been recommended by one of your trustees..."

"Well, that's neither here nor there, I suppose. I'm certainly pleased to have done her the favour. I believe it could work out for all parties." I'm speechless at this point and after a moment he continues. "I'll phone you next week, Sookie. Again, it was great to meet you."

"And you. Do take care," I manage with a weak smile, shaking his hand and then exiting the building.

I walk back to the Rabbit sedately. Mitzy Pirrie had arranged a job for me. In fact, it sounded very like Mitzy Pirrie had arranged to have a job _created_ for me. At her old school. Mean old nuns, she'd said. Yup. I'd seen the old pictures in the main office. The woman barely knew me. I get in the driver's seat and dial Amelia. It rings three times before she answers, out of breath.

"How did it go?" she asks excitedly.

"It went great," I say, my voice sounding for all the world as if it did not go great. "I don't think it could have gone better. Heck, I don't even think it could have gone worse."

"Sook?"

"I don't think it could possibly have gone badly," I clarify.

"I'm not following you at all. Did your meeting with the school go well?" Amelia asks.

"Remember Mitzy Pirrie?" I ask her.

"From brunch? Yeah?"

"Yeah, she's a member of their Board of Trustees. Apparently she made them call me, for a job that maybe won't exist unless I'm interested in taking it."

"What?"

I give her my explanation, of the meeting and then of Doug Salva's parting words to me.

"That's crazy. You only met her the one time," she says. Then after a pause, "Um, you don't think Inge...or Eric...asked..."

"Yup. That's kind of exactly what I'm thinking," I say flatly.

"That's..." She can't seem to think of how to finish that.

"Let me know if you come up with something besides 'crazy' because that's all I've got either."

"What..." she starts.

"I have no idea," I say. It doesn't even matter what she was going to ask. I have no idea what to make about this entire situation or anything pertaining to it. "Listen, I'm going to wrap up here and head home. I'll call you tonight, okay?"

"Please do. Drive safe... That's just...loony...Alright, Sookie, love you, call me tonight. Bye."

"Love you bye," I say, disconnecting.

I start the car and drive back to her house. I change and retrieve my things. I lock up and hit the road. I've just passed the exit to Baton Rouge when Eric calls. I raise my eyebrows at the caller ID and give it a sharp look, then set the phone down. A moment later it chimes with his text message.

Sent by Eric - 2:12 p.m. How did it go / is it still going?

I set the phone back down on the passenger seat very pointedly. He knows how excited about this I was. It is perfectly reasonable that he is eager for news. I am not angry with him. I will gather my thoughts on this subject before I talk to him. How felicitous that I should have another four hours all to myself to ruminate. I can feel my mouth set in its hard line and try to smooth my features. I flip the radio on. It does not distract me.

Best case scenario. My new friend Mitzy is a well-meaning, yet interfering old-lady that independently sought to give me a leg up in this hard world. I look at that from a couple of angles. Do I want a job? Yes, I badly do. This one in particular? Heck yeah. Do I want come by a job through preferential treatment? No. Well...no. I wanted to be hired because I was a good teacher, obviously. And because I would be a good fit for the environment. Because they liked what I had to say, and how I planned to be. The troubling thing was that I'd left with the impression that they were genuinely pleased with me. I mean, either that or Barry Horrowitz could be moonlighting with the theatre. From what Doug had said it seemed like space had been made for me, explicitly. Was there any other way to take his words about 'this new position'? Did I want that? Definitely not. There are favours and then there are _favours_. This was beyond the limit. What would even possess her? I could never work in a job where my superiors knew that I'd essentially only been hired as a favour to one of their Trustees.

Worst case scenario. Eric Northman used his family connections to finagle a job for me in New Orleans without asking or telling me anything about it. He'd been candid about his interest in me, and seeing me in New Orleans. I knew as well as he did that our best, well, our only chance at seeing each other really, would be in the city. He's already shown that he'd go to lengths for me. Would he go this far? I didn't think so, but I wasn't certain. He hated this kind of thing. He hated it in others, and for himself. But, I knew he was savvy. And I certainly knew that he liked to have his way, and he wasn't particularly shy about inveigling it into being. He would say finesse. He might say he had acumen. You could just as easily call it sly and cunning. Would I be mad about it? Yes. Yes because he didn't offer or consult me, but moreover yes, because he should know that not wanting to take things we hadn't earned was something we had in _common_. It's not like there was a whole lot on the surface that made us compatible. If he were to ignore something like that in favour of his convenience, then basically I was just another Escort in his eyes. That had me frowning. I kind of thought there was more to it than that. I had to clamp down hard on my pique.

My phone was ringing again. It was him again. I guess he was just calling between meetings. Twenty minutes later I pull off for gas and send him a text.

"Hey, driving home now. Can I call later? What time is good?"

I fill the Rabbit's tank and grab an iced tea and a granola bar from inside. He sends a message back letting me know he'll be home by nine, my time. I spend the last two hours of my drive singing along with the radio and trying not to run any more hypotheticals or place any blame.

At home, I hang my clothes up, dress a chicken and toss it in the oven. I'll have a late dinner since I'll be up on the phone. I call Jason and invite him for lunch tomorrow, I can make up a salad with my leftovers and have sandwiches for us. I call Amelia and let her know that I've arrived safely. She's eager to discuss the Hestia job, but I tell her I want to ask Eric his part before I get back to it. She lets me get off the phone only when I assure her that I'll call her if not tonight, then tomorrow at the latest. I run a bath and read a romance while my dinner cooks. Why can't my dilemmas be more along the lines of these heroines? Why does it have to be, 'should I take a job I both want and need but shouldn't rightfully be offered'? Why can't it ever be 'should I yield to the dark temptations of this pirate lord'? Because I know the answer to the second one. Totally yes. Well, given her situation. Maybe not in mine. I'll cross that bridge for myself when the pirate lord shows up to ravish me if needs be.

Smelling like heaven and feeling relaxed, I eat a leisurely late supper. It's finally time to call him. I think I've figured out how to approach it without getting irrational, even if my worst case proves correct.

"Hey Sookie, how did it go today?" he answers.

"It went great, with a small hitch at the end," I say.

When he questions, I explain further, quoting Doug Salva. He does not interrupt at all.

"So Eric, I guess I have to ask," I wind up. "Did you say anything to your grandmother? Because as nice a time as we had at brunch, I don't feel like I so impressed Mitzy that she'd go and do something like this all on her own."

"I did not," he says coldly. "The only mention of you at all was right at the beginning of the conversation when I told her you'd run into her friends and suggested I call her to say hello."

"Oh Eric, you told her that?" I scold, completely distracted by his comment. "You shouldn't have implied you were only calling because you were told to."

"It was true."

"It wasn't very nice though. She doesn't need to be told that you wouldn't call her normally," I continue.

"But I _wouldn't_ call her normally. And apparently with good reason," he answers. "Sookie, if she did this, or had her friend do this, I'm very sorry. It's not intended to be an insult to you. This is just what they do."

"I'm not quite following."

"Favours for friends, pulling strings, solving problems their way. Finding you a job that they can approve of." I knew he wasn't just talking about me at that point.

"It's interfering and misguided, I'll grant you, but it doesn't seem ill-intentioned..."

"No, don't excuse it."

I sigh. This battle of wills, or whatever it is that goes on with him and his family, just makes me sad. I don't want to push him. I can tell he wouldn't be receptive to anything I have to say about it right now. "I'm so relieved it wasn't you," I say, instead.

"Me? Sookie, I'm eager to see you situated, but that's not something I would presume to do."

"I didn't want to think you would," I say quickly, "Which is why I asked you first."

Now he is sighing.

"I'm not going to take it, if they formally offer it," I decide.

"Despite that it's perfect? I can see why you might want to," he says. Liar. He pauses for a moment. I figure he's debating whether or not to call himself on his own baloney. Instead he continues, "You said it went well otherwise? You think impressed them?" Now trying to rationalize, just like me in the car.

"The ends are good, but I don't like the means. I felt it went well, yes, but knowing the circumstances, it doesn't really seem as though it couldn't have, does it?"

"You could have shown up naked. Or drunk."

Laughing I say, "I hope you're not speaking from experience there." He stays quiet, making me wonder. "You didn't!" I exclaim after a moment, in a tone that wonders if maybe he did, at some point.

"I haven't, no. I will not say I was not sorely tempted on more than one occasion," he says.

"Do you think I should call her? Just tell her thank you for trying to help, but no thank you?"

"I'll call her."

I sigh loudly. I'm biting my tongue, but apparently I cannot control my airflow.

"What?" he demands.

"It's not really my place," I say. I want to tell him not to yell at his grandmother, but I don't want to nag him. "I'm sorry, for this situation."

"I as well. Let's talk about something else," he suggests.

So we did, for another twenty minutes or so, before we said good night.

The following day, I'm watching Jason devour his third chicken salad sandwich on the wheat bread I'd baked that morning while I told him about the whole business with the fake job, and the real but temporary job.

"Wish someone would set me up like that," he says, once I'd summed up the Hestia situation.

"Is the shine completely worn off running the road crew then?" I ask lightly. I'm unsurprised that he doesn't share my moral ambiguity. Jason's always been a 'take what comes to you' kind of guy, without asking questions. I suppose it explains why he's such a tomcat. I guess overall he leads a pretty charmed life, within the scope of our small town, anyway.

"Nah, I like it well enough," he says, finally leaning back away from the table and giving his tummy a satisfied rub. "But if someone were to make up a job for me doin' exactly what I want to do anyway? You don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth."

He gets the same stern look I'd given Amelia. "No using Gran to win your arguments," I huff. He starts laughing.

"The manner'a givin' is worth more than the gift!" I quote back furiously. He keeps on grinning at me, chuckling all the while. "Jason Stackhouse, don't make me get the switch," I warn, in full Gran-voice.

He manages to school his face long enough to match the look I'm levelling at him. I crack first, the corner of my mouth twitching up in a smirk, and then we're both uproarious. God, I _miss_ her.

"Eric thinks it's his grandmother sort of roundabout interfering with his life," I say when we settle. "And apart from anything else, I don't want to be in the middle of that."

"That's your new man then?" Jason asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Not quite," I answer honestly. "I guess you'd call it dating, but I wouldn't call him _mine_."

He just nods at that. It's an arrangement he can understand. "So I guess you're gonna tell them to take their job and shove it?" he asks.

"Yeah, I think I have to," I answer. "I think I should," I correct.

"You sure you want to be moving back down there after all?" he asks.

"Yup, still sure," I say.

He excuses himself after that and I head out to do some weeding in the flowerbed. My phone goes off from its perch on the porch, and I flounder standing up and pulling my gloves off so I can answer it. I don't want to miss any calls that could be about my employment. It's another job substituting for the following week, not another interview. I gladly accept it anyway.

The garden was coming along really nicely. I worked on it a little bit more on Friday and Saturday. I'd also started on the inside of the house. I'd decided to work from the top down, since the warmer it got, the more unbearable working in the upstairs would become. So, I spent most of my weekend scraping wallpaper and cleaning baseboards. I was going to paint. It was low-impact enough that I wouldn't strain myself.

Sunday morning I found myself at church. I was grateful for the friends who wished me well, and for healing. I prayed that I was making the right decisions in my life. After service I visited for a while with the rest of the congregation over sweet tea and coffee cake. I came home and went for a walk in my woods.

Discouragingly, the only call I got from New Orleans that week was from Doug Salva on Tuesday. I return his call later in the afternoon. He did offer me the job. The salary I was about to turn down made me cringe when he finished rattling off his 'good news'.

"Doug, while I'm truly grateful that you took the time to meet with me last week, I don't think I can accept this offer."

"Pardon me?" he asks. Reasonable response, from his point of view.

I'll just go for full honesty, then. "I wasn't aware when you contacted me that it was on a favour to one of the school's Trustees. From what you said when we spoke, I don't feel like I'm being offered a position at your school based on my merits. Nor do I feel confident that such a position would even exist were it not for Mrs. Pirrie. She and I are not so well acquainted that I believe she could have made the recommendation with confidence, even as I am flattered by it." I pause, taking a deep breath before I finished, "I apologize for wasting your time in this way. I assure you that I would have cleared this matter up last week had I been fully aware of the situation at that time. I could not accept a post under these circumstances."

For a long moment, he has nothing to say to that. "Well I...appreciate your candour, Miss Stackhouse. I think I understand your position."

"Thank you, Mister Salva," I say. We're obviously back to formal now. "Again, I am sorry for the confusion in this matter. I was an unwitting party."

"Yes, I understand. In that case, I wish you luck, Miss Stackhouse. Please feel free to apply to Hestia in the future. Available positions for the forthcoming school year are posted in the last week of June."

"Thank you sir. It was a pleasure to meet you. Take care."

"Goodbye," he says.

Since I might as well get all the bad out of the way, I contact the Bartle School the same afternoon and give my regrets. I feel very down in the dumps for the rest of the week, brightening again only on Friday, because I'm headed back to New Orleans this afternoon, for pleasure, rather than business. Eric's flying in tonight. When I asked Amelia if I could stay with her, she had given me a bit of a hard time. It wasn't because I was unwelcome, but because I was refusing to assume I'd be staying with Eric. I was unopposed to the idea, but he hadn't mentioned it specifically. We'd spoken this morning and he told me he was getting in late, and I told him the same. The brief conversation had ended with "See you later," but not when. I finished my day at school and changed in the faculty washroom and left straight from there. I'd still be getting in close to nine o'clock.

Amelia was not home when I arrived at her place. She'd left a note telling me not to wait up for her. At least someone is having fun tonight! Yawning, I changed into shorts and a tank top and watched a movie on her couch. Eric called when it was nearly over.

"Hey, where are you? I just got in." he says.

"Amelia's," I answer, stifling another yawn. That drive really takes it out of me.

"Really? I figured you'd still be driving. I was going to suggest you just come straight here. Are you tired?"

"Little bit, yes."

"Ah. Well, do you want to?"

"Hm?"

"Just come here?" he asks.

"Eric, I'm in my pj's," I say.

"That's alright. I can very easily also be in my pj's," he says. I look at the clock. It's nearly eleven. But, it's Friday night. I'm a young person. I can go out at eleven on a Friday night. That's totally reasonable.

"Alright, I'll see you in twenty minutes. Um, Eric?"

"Yes?"

"Um, should I bring my bag?"

"That's up to you. I'm fine staying in bed all weekend where I assure you clothing is optional, but maybe you'll get hungry at some point and want to leave," he says offhand. I can hear that grin again. In stereo, since mine is up too.

"Alright then. You may need to find me a redbull tonight though. See you in a bit," I say, and hang up.

I leave a quick note for Amelia, on the back of her note to me. "Here and gone, you can guess where! Talk to you soon! XXOO -SS." I switch the shorts for a pair of jeans and put on a cardigan sweater over my camisole. I don't bother with a bra again. The sweater will keep me decent enough to get out of my car and walk across a lobby. I haven't unpacked anything, so I just lock up and head over to Eric's hotel. He's waiting when I reach the valet. He is holding a can of redbull and a straw. He's not wearing pajamas, he's in jeans and a grey tee. He's got his arm around my shoulders in a squeeze and is lifting my weekend bag out of the hatchback.

"This is the Rabbit?" he asks. When I give him a nod, "I like it, it's cute. Suits you."

We walk inside and the same night manager, Stuart, greets us. I give him a nod and a smile. Eric is walking a step or two ahead of me toward the elevator. Once we're on it, he grins down at me.

"I'm glad you came over," he says. I just return his smile.

"How was your week?" he asks.

"Good and bad. I taught all week. Another good group of kids," I say. He nods.

The elevator dings open and I follow him down the short hallway to his room. The moment the door is closed my bag has vanished and his arm is around my back holding me to him and his hand is at my cheek tilting my head up toward him and I'm being kissed. He presses into me and my lips part with his and our tongues meet, stroke, twirl. I let my purse drop to the floor and I lift my arms, my hands running up his chest, coming around his neck.

After a moment he pulls away, staring down at me with lust in his eyes. "These aren't your pajamas," he smirks.

I step back, and without hesitation unfasten my jeans and push them down, toeing out of my flats as I step out of the legs. I shrug off my sweater. It's been maybe fifteen seconds and I'm left in my cami and panties. I smirk and raise my eyebrows at him. He is stunned for all of a moment before he scoops me up and I squeal. He carries me off toward the bedroom, moving haltingly as he rids himself of his own shoes on the way. He's grinning, and before he can get carried away I grab at the collar of his shirt, curling my fingers into a fist around the fabric to get his attention.

"Be careful with me," I warn softly, letting my fingertips slide down his sternum as my hand falls against my ribs where his eyes follow. For an instant his expression falters and he gives me a nod, but the lust is back as he sets me down gently on the bed. His own shirt and jeans are off as quickly as mine were. He kneels at the side of the bed staring down at me for a minute. His look is predatory as he crawls up my body, stopping only to pull my top up over my head as he comes. I feel him brush his fingers softly against the last traces of my bruising which stubbornly remain, holding himself over me by the arm now bent beneath my head. His mouth is on mine again.

He rolls his hips against mine, pressing into me and I press right up to meet him, pausing as I lift to push away my panties. He leans back to help me with that, his hands running down across mine, then trailing away to stroke down my legs as he pulls the thin fabric with him. He returns in a trail of kisses up my body, my calf, my knee, the inside of my thigh, the peak of my mound, my belly, my ribs, my breast, my neck. His arms wrap around me again and I feel him shift to the side and I follow him, guiding myself as he rolls and shifts me on top of him, straddling. His hand drops to my ass and he gives me a squeeze, murmuring appreciation as he pulls me up along his chest. His hand at my breast, his mouth finds the other. My hands reach out to brace against the padded headboard. I moan softly as his tongue swirls across my nipple and his fingers trail down my crease of my ass, stroking across my lower lips, then across the top of my thigh, around my hip.

I try to reach back for him, lifting myself from his mouth, leaning back to stroke down his length. My eyes turn back to his when I feel a sharp pinch on my nipple. My hips buck involuntarily. He pulls my hand away from him, lifting it to his head. "Stay," he orders, commanding with a hoarse whisper. He draws his hand back down my back. I lean toward him again, offering my breast once more and he licks, nibbles, suckles. His hand comes around my hip once more, snaking between my legs. I cup his cheek, stroke through his hair, hold him to me. His fingers begin to rub circles over my clit, pausing to stroke down, to dip into me, and then returning.

"Yes," I breathe, and "Yes, yes, yes..." as I pant, and in moments I cry out as I come. I relax my fingers in his hair and lower myself to kiss him. He pushes back against my hips, sliding me down his body, never breaking from my lips. I feel as my sex brushes down his shaft and push myself against him, spreading my wetness down the length of him. He breaks my kiss at last to moan as I lift away and start to sink back down, slowly impaling myself on him. I drop my head to kiss across his jaw and down his neck, burying my head against his shoulder until I finally start to move over him.

I hear his voice as I roll my hips and lift myself off him again and again. I am not listening to what he says, instead I feel the rumble in the fingertips I have splayed across his chest as he speaks. I move faster and faster, drawing up an arm to cradle one of my breasts as I cup the other, plucking and pinching at my nipple. His hands take hold of my hips, fingers spread across my ass, as finally he cannot help but start to thrust to match my rhythm. I feel myself start to flush again and I arch back, letting him finish me as my hand falls to his thigh, trailing down to cup his sac. I feel him spasm there as I shudder over him, crying out my pleasure and drawing him with me with a groan of his own.

I come forward to rest against him, hugging his shoulders with my head resting against his chest as I breathe. His hands come around my head and my waist, holding me to him. We stay that way as he softens inside me until finally I can move away. I withdraw to the bathroom and wash myself, bringing him back a fresh damp cloth of his own. I pull the covers back and climb into the bed, snuggling down and he joins me, pulling my hips back against him, letting me shift my torso back against his chest. He drops a hand to rest across my stomach. He nuzzles into me, kissing my neck and shoulder. I drop an arm to his, entwining our fingers. We fall asleep that way, without saying another word.

I wake as I feel him stir, or else I stirred and he wakes. He hugs me back against him, eliminating the few inches of space between us where we'd drifted in the night.

"Mmm, g'morning," I yawn.

"Morning," he murmurs into my hair. He catches my yawn as well and I feel him stretch with it before snuggling back against me. We lay there for a few more minutes before he grins, more awake, "Really glad you came over last night."

"Over and _over again_, if you didn't notice," I blush.

He laughs. "Good."

"Are we really staying in bed all weekend?"

"We certainly could. I am guessing you want a shower though."

"Bingo."

"And then I'll have to feed you," he continues, not yet releasing me.

"I'm so much trouble," I say, feigning an apologetic tone.

He leans over and gives me a smooch before uncurling from me and getting out of bed. I turn and catch him with his arms thrown back and up and his back arched forward, lifting on the balls of his feet for a second as he stretches what is truly one of the most magnificent male bodies I have ever seen, even in pictures. My mouth had fallen open slightly at the sight of him. I close it when he catches my eye with a smirk.

"What?" he asks.

"You're a good looking man, Eric," I say with absolute honesty.

"You're a good looking woman, Sookie," he replies. "Now get your especially nice ass out of bed. I thought you were supposed to be the morning person." He flashes me a smile as he wanders off into the bathroom.

We managed to have a shower wherein we did not get dirty again before we got clean. I felt like we should get a merit badge for that, and told him so as we were drying off.

"Were you a girl scout?" he asks.

"Nope. Well, I was a Daisy for one year I think. They're the littlest ones. I couldn't do it anymore after we went to live with Gran," I shrug. "Were you a boy scout?"

"No, it wasn't offered."

"Poor Eric, stuck with fencing instead. Did you want to be one?"

"Maybe when I was eight or so, there was a kid I used to play with in summers down here. I recall feeling very bitter when he abandoned me to my grandparents alone while he went off to some sort of _jamboree_."

"Aww," I say. "Some time we'll put on short pants and neckerchiefs and toast marshmallows, so you can realize that dream."

"It could be fun if you promise that's all you'll be wearing."

I tossed my wet towel at his head, which he caught reflexively, lifting his own away from him as he did it. I ogled him shamelessly for a moment and then grabbed a dry one for my hair.

"So what are we really doing today? Or were you serious about the sex marathon and you just had me get all cleaned up for nothing?" I ask.

Without waiting for his answer I wrap my towel around myself and walk past him out into the living room where my bag and my clothes are. I hit a bit of a conundrum once I reach my bag about what to do with it, so I just hunch down and start digging through it for my toothbrush and an outfit to wear, folding up my jeans and putting them back on top. I start to zip up the bag again when he comes over and lifts it up and carries it into his bedroom. He grabs the luggage stand and sets it up in the corner of the room on the same side of the bed I'd slept on.

"Thanks," I say, with a smile. "That was awkward for a minute and I didn't want to invite myself." It also answered any lingering questions about if I was staying here tonight as well, so unspoken double-thanks, big guy. I start pulling on my clothes, and he is doing the same.

He nods at my thanks. "I'm thinking Audubon Park."

"Can we go to the zoo?" I ask. I love Audubon Park. There's a zoo and an aquarium, and a really picturesque walk with all the old oak trees hung with Spanish moss. It can be quite busy on weekends, but it still promises to be a lovely outing.

"Sure," he says. "We can just walk around for a while, do whatever strikes our fancy."

"Should we take my car?" I ask.

"Let's take mine," he says with a smile.

"Isn't it in Seattle?" I ask.

"I've bought one, for here in New Orleans," he says. He must catch my odd expression because he justifies, "For one thing, I just want to be able to drive myself when I feel like driving, and I'm apparently still here often enough that it's worth having. For another, I think I prefer the idea of driving than walking around with you at night."

"Ah," I say. I can't really argue the second point at all, even if I were so inclined, which I'm not. "What kind of car?"

"It's a corvette. It's the newer model, but otherwise the same as my other, only it is blue."

"What colour is the other?"

"Red." I grin. Of course it is. "Anyway, I haven't driven it yet."

"Why don't we do that first then? Let's just go for a drive. See where the road takes us," I grin.

"Yeah?" He asks, sounding excited.

"Can I pick the radio?"

"Will you be singing?" he asks, and then ducks theatrically. I shoot him a mean look that I'm unable to maintain and it quickly turns into a grin. "Go dry your hair then and do your girly things. I'll call breakfast, what do you want?"

"Um. French toast and fruit. And coffee."

He bends to kiss me and saunters off to order breakfast. I fix my hair and my makeup and find him back at his 'workstation' with his laptop, so I take a seat across from him.

"I thought no work on weekends?" I ask. It's not chiding, just a question.

"I came to look at maps, and there was an email," he says. I'm left to sit there for a couple of minutes as he finishes his typing. After another moment of perusing whatever, he closes his laptop.

"Can I ask how things are going? With the merger, and the Bill and Lorena fall out, and all that?" I ask. There's a knock on the door though and our breakfast has arrived. Since we happen to be sitting at the table already, we're also served, instead of just left to manage the cart. Eric has eggs and pancakes and a muffin and fruit and ham, sausages, and toast. So, typical light repast, for him.

In between mouthfuls he finally answers, "It's going better. I don't like to say that, because I don't want to jinx it, but some key people I've needed to ah, bring to our point of view, seem convinced in the ways I need them to be. I have ground to work from. I'm sorry to be vague here, I hope you can appreciate why needs be. I'll be happy to bore you with the details once we're after the fact."

I smile. "You seem less stressed out, even vague, so I'm glad."

"It's still stressful," he answer quickly. "It's just stressful from a more manageable position. Not floundering."

"Well that's good then."

"As far as Bill and Lorena go, we replaced them really quickly with a couple of promotions. Internally, it's not an issue. Externally, they're something of a sticking point in and of themselves. We're obviously not thrilled about their departure from an official standpoint, and rightfully so. I guess you could say that they've inadvertently given us a bargaining chip, for whatever dealings we do with the devil. Their continued presence is an issue we can press on whenever we're stuck on other matters."

"But you're... I mean you're not really going to merge with Arkansas are you?"

"By all appearances we are," he answers. That's fairly noncommittal, though he seems to be saying it's all for show?

"And how are things with Cataliades? Have you heard anything else?" he asks, artlessly changing the subject.

"I haven't, no. I sent him all my records. I guess Bill hasn't responded."

"I imagine that's deliberate. He's locked in a room somewhere in Little Rock writing code again. He must believe that he doesn't need to address it with any haste, whereas they probably anticipate that you're feeling pressured financially from your medical and legal bills. The longer it's drawn out, the more likely you are to capitulate, in their eyes."

I frown at that. I still don't know when exactly he got so spiteful toward me. "I'm grateful to not have to think about it a whole lot. So thank you, again."

"He's always been a petty little twit," Eric continues between another swig of coffee and a bite of toast. "Both he and that beldame bitch of an ex-wife of his."

"Maimonides?"

"What?"

"Simon Maimonides is the petty asshole? Bill's lawyer?"

"No Bill is the petty asshole. Maimonides is apparently good, but our guy is better."

"So who is the beldame bitch then?" I ask. He's not making any sense at all.

"Lorena...?" he says slowly, sounding out the syllables as if he's telling me something obvious.

"Ex. Wife?" I question, my voice rising a bit.

"Yeah...?" he says. He has actually stopped eating. Apparently my reaction is unnerving him. It is unnerving me as well.

"Bill and Lorena were _married _at some point?"

"Am I to take it you were not aware of that fact?"

I set aside my fork with a slight clatter against the table, and push my hands down to my sides. I am trying very hard to stay seated. So far, I am succeeding. I am struggling to take deep breaths. Probably I sound like an asthma sufferer right now. He's just sitting there watching me. My face feels hot. I close my eyes and steady myself. "I'm sorry for that," I say. My voice sounds strained, but it's the best I can do. "No, I was not aware of that fact. I think that it answers some questions. How is it that you know this?"

"Standard background check when we bought his startup. Sookie, I'm sorry, I had no idea you didn't know about this."

"It's...it's really just another thing. She isn't called Lorena Compton. He chose not to tell me and I had no reason to know. It is just another thing. Just another reason to be glad I found out before he proposed, and just another thing to feel stupid about after the fact." I draw another breath.

"Sookie..." he begins. Just that one word is dripping with his pity.

"May we not talk about it anymore please?" I interrupt. "I am not angry, or even hurt, much. I am...embarrassed."

"You needn't be."

"We will have to disagree on that point."

He stands up and comes around the table to me, kneeling down so that we're roughly on the same level while I'm seated, and he tries to put his arms around me.

"I don't need a hug right now," I say wearily. It's his condolences I don't need right now.

"But perhaps you want one?" he asks, echoing back what I'd said to him. It gets half of a small smile, hearing him say that. I accept his embrace. "Do you want me to take you back to Amelia's?" he asks as he pulls back a bit.

"Oh, no, that's fine Eric, I can clear out," I say, standing up. I guess getting upset over your ex is a big turnoff. Quelle surprise.

He stands up right along with me. "Sookie, no, that's not what I meant. I was asking if you want to go clear your head, not telling you I want you to leave." Oh.

"Well, I... don't then. I'd really like to go for a drive." He smiles as I say it.

"Good," he says, and lifts a hand to brush some of my hair away from my face.

"You should finish your eggs before they go cold," I suggest. "I'm going to go and splash some water on my face," I admit. He leans to kiss my forehead and goes to sit back down to his breakfast of champions.

As I walk towards the bathroom he calls me back. "Sookie? For what it's worth...you're not stupid. Not for having trusted him. It's he who is stupid for betraying your trust."

"Thanks," I say, nodding a little, and head back to the master bathroom.

I'm surprised when I look in the mirror and realize that beyond a bit of extra pink in my cheeks, I don't look a wreck. I managed to take all that in without bursting into tears again. A small victory. Maybe I've become inured to these things about Bill over the past few weeks, or maybe it truly does bother me less, now. Probably both things. I go ahead and press a cool wash cloth over my face and hold it for a minute. I brush out my hair, and brush on a little clear mascara, and a little more lip gloss. I give myself a smile in the mirror, and lean up across the counter to kiss my reflection.

I hear him chuckle from the doorway. I hadn't bothered to close it. I quickly grab a piece of toilet paper and wipe the faint outline of my lips off the glass while he watches.

"All full?" I ask.

"Yes. Should I ask?" he says.

"Just a little self-love," I respond, as I toss the tissue into the trash.

"Ready to go?" he asks. He holds out his hand to me. I give him a nod and take it, grabbing my purse as we head out.


	11. Magnetism

Eric's little car was sort of understated, but very sleek, with the dark blue paint and the dark tire rims. I could only imagine how flashy it was in red. The valet was practically giddy as he got out and he handed over the keys almost reluctantly. Eric seemed to understand completely and clapped the man on the shoulder as he walked over and opened my door for me. He took his time circling around the car, gazing at it with an appreciative eye. I could have felt a little jealous, but mostly it was cute. While he was making his appraisal outside, I tried to find the button that would push the seat back for him. I found it on the side of mine, so easily leaned over to reach the one on his side. This was a pretty tiny car for such a big man. I couldn't really picture him in anything else but a sports car though. While I waited on the seat's slow backwards progression I tried to imagine Eric driving a pickup or an SUV. Nah, it just wouldn't work. I was still stretched across his seat when he opened his door.

"All done ogling your new baby?" I ask, grinning up at him.

"Apparently not," he says without missing a beat as he leers down at me, his eyes going right to my cleavage.

"Pfft," I wave him off with a grin. Jealous of a car? Me? Never was. I lift myself up. "You can fix it then," I say. "I don't know how you're even going to fit in here though." I sit back and buckle up, smoothing my skirt out with a dash of prim while he lowers himself in.

"The corvette is very good for that," he says as he settles in and begins his own adjustments. "Plenty of leg room, and I'm not bumping my head since the seats are so low." I'm surprised to see that he's right, though I don't know why I'm surprised, of course he'd know. By the time he's done fiddling with the whizgig that controls the seat, he seems situated quite comfortably. He starts making all kinds of adjustments to mirrors and pushing buttons and turning knobs, poking at the computer screen, opening and closing little hatches. Orienting himself, basically. I watch with some amusement because he's very focused as he does it all. The car appears to have every available option except an automatic transmission. I ask him about that.

"They don't make them," he laughs. "What would be the point?"

"So... people who can't drive stick can drive them?"

"People who don't drive manual don't need a car like this," he states with authority. Well then. I've been told. "Ready to go?"

"Do you know where we're going then?"

"I found a scenic drive, which is what I was looking up earlier. Should be good, it looked like lots of little winding roads." He's got a new favourite toy, and he gets to play with it allll morning. He's thrilled. His enthusiasm is contagious.

"Sounds great," I smile.

He clicks his seatbelt into place and makes a small demonstration of pushing the ignition button. He seems to purr right along with the engine as it rumbles to life. He gives me a side-eyed wink and sets the car in gear. I'm immediately jolted back in my seat and can't help but laugh along with him as he practically peels out. After a few blocks he drops the speed back into a slightly more reasonable excess of the legal limit, but we still make it out of the city fairly quickly, heading east toward St. Bernard Parish.

As soon as we hit the highway, Eric set out to break the sound barrier. It was definitely recklessly fast, but at least he wasn't weaving. He slowed for our turnoff and of course went slower once we reached the back roads. Slower, not slow. We bumped along while the bayou streamed past in a blur. It was scenic to some degree, although the landscape wasn't exactly unfamiliar to me. The scene that I was enjoying much more was Eric's glee. We were back in the vicinity of New Orleans a couple of hours later, and I waved him on past our exit when he showed the slightest reluctance to take it. This time we headed west and stuck to larger roads. He was putting his new car thoroughly through its paces.

We chatted sporadically throughout the drive, enjoying our conversation and being comfortable in our silences. I didn't bother trying to sneak a peak at the speedometer, but after a while I couldn't help commenting. We were passing other cars on the highway like they were parked, and they had to be going sixty at least.

"You might be going a little bit fast," I suggest, failing at nonchalance.

"This gauge goes up to two-twenty. We are going _barely_ half of that," he grins, but I blanch. I think he dropped us back under a hundred after that. He told me he hadn't gotten a speeding ticket for two years, as a testament to his good driving.

"It doesn't count if the only reason you haven't gotten one is because the police can't catch you!" I say, and he laughs some more.

We had to stop for gas before heading back to the city. It was not that we had travelled particularly far, but fuel efficiency was not one of Eric's car's virtues. I will bring this up the next time he scolds me for buying bottled water. It was around two o'clock when we got back to New Orleans. It ended up being a much longer drive than either of us had intended, but since we only had a plan for the day in the very loosest sense, it was no matter. He steered us around the narrowing streets as we got further into the city. He asked if I still felt like going to the zoo. I'd been enjoying the peace and quiet of the car, and wasn't particularly interested in bursting the little isolation bubble that Eric and I were in by going anywhere too crowded. I suggested just walking the park loop instead. I was eager to stretch my legs and he agreed it would be nice.

"So what is the verdict?" I ask him. He's just set the alarm after treating the new corvette to another lingering stare. He steps to me and pulls his arm up to rest around my shoulder as we start to walk across the parking lot. I fidget for half a moment before tucking mine around his hip, catching my thumb to rest in one of his belt loops. I get a little squeeze of approval from him for that.

"I like it. I like the colour, which I wasn't sure I would. It's smooth to ride in, no?" he asks.

"Mm, I think it must be, otherwise I would have panicked a lot more. I'm glad you got to give it a thorough testing though."

"I am too, thank you."

"When's Pam coming in?" I ask.

"Monday afternoon again. It seems to work well when I need to be down here. She can make sure there's nothing pressing at the office first thing and be here before the end of the work day, generally."

"That's convenient," I agree. "I'm sorry I'll miss her though."

"Will you? When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow in the afternoon I figured."

"Hm. I assumed you'd stay the week down here. I guess that explains your tiny suitcase. I thought maybe my perception was off and that was a normal amount of things, compared to Pam who packs for a month when she stays five days."

"She just likes to be prepared," I say. I'm unsure how to respond to the staying the week thing.

"And she always is, yes. Don't worry. There is so little substantive to criticize in your friend, that I can only resort to low teasing over her being a clotheshorse," he says, ameliorating. "Possibly a clothes-Clydesdale," he amends.

"Since you're her boss, it makes you her principal enabler, you realize," I say.

"Guilty," he admits, and we laugh.

My phone rings while we're walking and pull away from him to check it. He may not work on the weekends, but I need to make myself available to any calls. It's not work related though. It's Patti Parker. I tell him so, not answering immediately. I'm more asking if he minds the interruption. I can guess he doesn't approve of the caller, but he gives me a nod to go ahead. He keeps his arm around me, which is nice. It would have been weird if he recoiled.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hi Sookie! It's Patti Parker calling," she says brightly.

"Hi Patti, how are you?"

"Oh I'm just wonderful. We've finally got up to Shreveport this week and I'm wondering if you're free to have lunch tomorrow?" she invites.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I'm down in the city this weekend," I apologize.

"Darn my luck!" she says. "Well, I'll have to try again for another time then. What brought you away, business or pleasure?" she inquires.

I glance up at Eric for a moment and smile, "Pleasure. I'm here visiting a friend for the weekend."

"That does sound fun!" she enthuses. She's so bubbly she could work for Coca-Cola. "May I give you a call next week then? It would be nice to get together while we're up here."

"Sounds great, Patti. I'll talk to you soon," I say.

"Take care, Sookie!" she says, and I disconnect, tucking my phone away and leaning back into Eric as I sling my arm back around his hip.

"I'm sorry for that," I say. "I'm just afraid to miss any calls lately."

"Understandable. She seems very eager to improve your acquaintance."

"She does. She reminds me a lot of my Gran's friends. It's a bit bolstering to talk with people who are so obviously pleased to be talking to you."

"Hm," he muses. "Am I to take it that you're susceptible to flattery, then?"

I grin. "I suppose, but isn't everyone, to some extent?"

"Maybe. I was going to use that as a segue to talk about you and this dress though," he say, letting his hand run across my shoulder and down to rest at my back. He isn't being fresh, just affectionate. We're in public after all.

"Oh really?"

"Yes," he agrees. "Though it's quite flattering in its own right. The view from just above your shoulder here is quite nice." I grin. Okay, a little fresh. The right amount.

We continue our stroll, hopping right back into our insulated bubble as the afternoon wears on. We stop a few times, to watch the birds and to watch some children trying to climb one of the big oaks. I think this is the second time that we've been lapped by the same pair of joggers.

"It's nice here," he muses, pulling me toward him. We'd dropped to hand holding. He had tried to do his best to slow his stride to match mine while our arms were linked around each other, but it hadn't lasted very long.

"It is. Did you come here much when you were living here?"

"No. It's one of those things I always thought of but didn't actually do. You know, thinking I should do my run here, but then the treadmill at my gym is just more convenient."

"Egh, I hate the treadmill."

"But you use that other torture device," he objects.

"The elliptical? Yeah, I like those, but it's different to running. There's resistance. And it's not a torture device, it's good exercise."

"Try concentrating on _your_ free weights when it's my ass flexing hypnotically in the mirrored wall, and tell me that. You won't be able to. I've seen you looking," he says, with a little twitch of his hip. "I didn't say it was torture for _you_."

I giggle. So that's what that was about. "And here I'd been thinking you were pissed at me for intruding on your workout all this while."

"I _was_," he insists. "I had to leave or I'd have been forced to put you at my mercy."

"That's nice to know," I say. "Speaking of my being at your mercy, do you have anything planned for tonight, or will we just hang out?"

"I have some rather extensive plans for the evening, yes," he agrees, giving me another leer. "Though they can be put on hold if you'd like to go out."

"Maybe for dinner, later," I say.

"Much later," he agrees. "Much, much, _much_..." he trails off. We practically sprint the rest of the way to the car. Well not really, but we certainly walk the rest of the way with a deal more determination.

We muchly enjoyed our return to his bedroom, and were now muchly enjoying the enormous bathtub. I shivered and sighed as he toyed with me under the water. I was leaned back against his chest now, and he was running a warm washcloth over my shoulders. While I was struggling to stay in the moment, both today, and in general when it came to him and the unspecified us, I was distracted with wondering if I'd see him soon after tomorrow. Being like this, it was pretty hard not to be infatuated. I was genuinely enjoying myself, but also frustrated with the idea that this was a blip; a brief interruption of real life.

"You are thinking," he notices.

"Yes," I agree, without offering anything else.

He drops his head to kiss at my neck and his hair falls forward to brush across my chest. The ends are dipping into the water. "What are you thinking about?"

"You," I say simply. I don't really want to offer more than that. There are so many reasons to not have this conversation right now. As sweet as he's been with me on the whole, I'm aware of the fact that he's not like this in general. I don't really want to be let down in the future for disappointed hopes. I'm pretty sure I couldn't take it. Not that I would curl into a ball and die or something, but for all I'd coped, or was coping, with the Bill situation, having my legs kicked from under me again in succession seemed like it would leave me sprawled for a long time.

He runs his hand down across my arm and around my chest, still nuzzling at my neck. He's playing with my breast again, tracing his fingertips around my nipple and squeezes me to him tightly and suddenly and I gasp, not in pleasure, but as pain shoots across my ribs. My hands come up quickly, reflexively, and I have to push his arm away from me, sending water splashing out of the tub as I jerk forward. He catches on quickly.

"Fuck. I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry," he repeats. So much for not spoiling both our moods with unpleasant thoughts, I guess.

I've scooted away from him a bit, hunched forward with my arm across my chest, waiting for the throb of pain to continue as it often had right after my injury. It was only momentary, though. It's been much better. In the past week I've been nearly back to normal. It was just a bad angle and too much pressure from him. I think he has no idea how strong his hold is. I feel his fingertips trace down my back, feather light.

"Come back," he coaxes, and I comply, sinking slowly back against him. He readjusts his arm lower around my middle, but still doesn't make any effort to grip me. I hate that he can't.

"I'm sorry I'm still being fragile," I say. It's true. I'm not apologizing to him or anything. I regret the situation in general.

"It's fine. I just forgot for a moment there," he says. "How long until...until you're completely better?"

I sigh, "I guess about another month or so. I'm not really sure how it works, I've never broken anything before this. I don't know if you just wake up one day and it's like it never happened or what."

"It's gradual. Things that would make it hurt, hurt less and less, until eventually you just get the odd occasional throb. I don't know if it's actually that you stay effected forever, or if your brain just becomes permanently hyper-aware of the area so you notice little things you'd otherwise ignore."

"You're speaking from experience then? What bones have you broken?"

"My arm, when I was ten, and then my leg my senior year in college."

I learn that Eric had fallen out of a tree at his grandparents' house one summer when he was younger. He'd walked sedately into the kitchen and horrified the maid by telling her that his friend, who had been her son, had run off, while completely ignoring his fractured appendage. He'd apparently been in some kind of shock, and had been more concerned that the friend was now missing.

"I must have searched the whole property for that guy before it occurred to me to go inside," he was saying. And of course I can offer no more than aws and little placating noises at the adorable mental image of a pint-sized Eric wandering around stricken in search of his companion.

"He didn't turn up until the next day," Eric insists. "He thought he'd be in trouble for pushing me."

"Did he push you?"

"I don't remember really. If he did, it was probably because pushed him first. Just kids playing," he said. That happens. It was the main reason why Gran had always clamped down on the horseplay.

"Poor Fahma, she must have been so freaked out to have you injured while in her care," I said. Eric had already explained that he'd spent most of his summers down here in New Orleans with his grandparents. I wasn't sure where his parents were living at that time. I'd remembered my Aunt Linda's reaction the time she'd brought Jason home from a camping trip with a busted ankle though. Tears for days.

"Hm," he says, as though trying to remember. "I don't think she was at home when it happened. She was there when I came back from the hospital. She wouldn't let me draw on my cast," he says. I feel him shrug behind me and nudge me away. "Get up, the water's going cold." I'd noticed it, but had been too comfortable to bother. I drew away from him causing the much cooler water to rush back against his chest. He pulled a face as he quickly hopped up and reached for a towel. I pulled the drain-stop and stood up as well, taking the towel he offered.

"How'd you break your leg?" I ask.

"Eh. Skiing," he says, somewhat reluctantly.

"Is that a story you don't want to tell?" I ask.

"It was a really unpleasant day," he says.

"As opposed to all the joy one can usually recount about broken limbs," I say, teasing. Sumptuous hotel bathrobe? Don't mind if I do. "Very well, Mister Northman, keep your secrets," I continue, handing him a robe for himself.

"Is that supposed to be reverse psychology?" he chuckles.

"Only if it's working," I grin. He comes over to me, enrobed in his own right now, and guides me out to the living room so we can lounge on the sofas.

"Don't think badly of me then, it was sheer stupidity on my part," he begins. I nod.

"So, Christmas break, senior year. I'd been well into the mindset of having my last hurrah the whole year. Decided to beg off for the holidays and take a trip instead. I tried to get some people to come along with me, but they were all going home, so I went anyway. Long story short, I hit a mogul that I wasn't expecting on a double black diamond and landed terribly, and had to lay there for over an hour freezing until someone came along, and then it took almost three hours for the ski patrol to reach me and finally get me down the mountain." I made a face to let him know that my heart was going out to him. That did indeed sound like a particularly bad day. I went to pat his leg, and hesitated as I didn't know which one. He pointed out his right, so that's where my hand rested.

"I ended up spending Christmas alone in the hospital. And not even a cute nurse or a candy striper to flirt with while I was laid up," he bemoans woefully, making a little light of his recounting.

"Oh, Eric. You should have called your parents," I say. It's pretty clear it's been a long-term avoidance with him and his family.

"I did," he answers flatly. Oh. I flush immediately at my faux pas. Who knew I was so flexible as to fit my entire foot in my mouth this way. His thumb comes to my face to brush at the lip I'd mindlessly bitten down on in my worry. I give his hand a little kiss and take it in mine.

"I told you it wasn't a nice story," he says. He's right. it wasn't. I can find no silver lining to extol in response, either. Instead I just curled myself around him and held on for a while.

I really don't like to think ill of people I've never met, but right now, I am judging Eric's parents pretty harshly. Who leaves their son alone in a hospital on _Christmas_, for _Christ's_ sake! It's true that I didn't know the circumstances of what had detained them, but since I did know that they were divorced that meant it was two independent decisions to not rush to his side. You couldn't have kept me away if it had been anyone I cared about, even _if_ he had intended to skip the holiday. In fact, given that response? I could almost sympathize with his desire not to see them. I pressed myself more tightly to Eric as I thought about it. He wasn't saying anything. My hands started roaming of their own accord, a tiny outlet for my nervous energy. When I felt him stir beneath me I had a stroke of genius.

Kissing at his chest, I lean back to pull at his robe. I press my hands across the lean muscle of his pecs, letting my fingers trace the lines there, sliding to his sides and drawing the plush white garment further away from him. My mouth finds his nipple and I bite softly, letting my teeth drag before laving at it with my tongue. The fingers of my right hand come up to play across his other, pinching and circling as I push his robe from his hip with my left, taking time to stroke across his backside. My fingers clutch the flesh there as I kiss down his chest, moving almost feverishly now. I slide myself down his torso, dragging my chest across his stiffening cock as I go. When I reach it, I greet it with warm kisses across its head and down its length. I continue down, nuzzling against his thigh, paying soft-tongued homage to his sac.

I bring my left arm between his legs, reaching up to stroke lightly across the bottoms of his cheeks, which makes him shiver all over. I allow myself a satisfied smile when he moans and says my name, and take his length in my right hand, holding it to me so I can lick up and down him like the ice cream cone he'd so envied weeks ago. Finally I drop my mouth over him, taking immediately as much of him as I can manage as my fingers kneed his cheeks and my other hand trails up his chest again. He grabs at it, plainly feeling the need to hold on to something. I swallow against him, appreciating the sound he makes at that, before I begin to bob my head. He does not last long as I continue my steady efforts, bobbing then pausing to swallow over him in a long pattern I've been counting to myself. I take it as a commendation when he soon cannot refrain from bucking his hips in time with me. When he grabs a fistful of my still-damp hair and hollers out as he comes I am exceedingly pleased with myself. I am tender as I withdraw, taking care to clean him gently with my tongue as I come away.

I kneel up and look on at his blissed out expression with a smile. He looks sheepish when his eyes flicker open again. "You're really good at that," he says, sounding a little high.

"I am working with excellent materials here," I praise back.

He tries to lean up to grab at my hands, pulling me forward but I pull away shaking my head.

"I want to do something about dinner," I say, realizing I'm quite hungry for actual food as well.

He nods at that, pulling his robe back on and hoisting himself to a sitting position. He presses his palms against the soft on either side of himself. "I really love this couch," he states. I grin wider.

We debate going out which amounted to either of us professing that we were happy to go out, if the other wanted to, or to stay in, if the other didn't mind, or would prefer. It was several exchanges of mutual courteous attempts at accommodation before he declared we were staying in, ordering Thai food, and watching a movie. Perfect. We didn't even bother getting dressed. My hair had a little curl in it since I hadn't used the hair drier. This amused Eric to no end. I am pretty sure he paid more attention to the little wisps of curlicue he kept finding to play with than the movie. This was his loss, because it was terribly funny.

"I like hearing you laugh," he said at one point, which gave me the warm fuzzies.

I turned around and gave him a kiss for that, which threatened to turn into many more kisses, but I pulled away and insisted that he let me finish the movie. So that is what he did, and the second the credits began the television was switched off and he was pulling me back to the bedroom, turning off lights as we went.

I wake up the next morning feeling sore in a wonderful way and incredibly well rested. I have my arm stretched across his chest and my head tucked against his shoulder with his arm around me, cradling me to him. I stretch my legs, running my toes up and down his calf as I did. He barely stirred. I smoothed my hand across his chest and heard and felt his rumble as he murmured, but didn't wake. I raise myself up from him and peer down. His face is peaceful with the faint hint of a smirk.

"I'm ready to get up," I whisper, and paused. I kiss his nose. Nothing. "Okay sleepy head," I allow, and carefully disentangle myself from him, rolling away and off the bed and traipsing into the bathroom. The curtains and drapes are drawn shut and it's still dark in the room, but I see by the little blue clock that it's already after ten. The bathroom light blinds me when I switch it on, so I quickly switch it back off and just start my shower in the dark. As I stand there under the multiple streams of water I take a moment to be thankful for friends, family and friends who are family, and for simple pleasures. I grin a little bit at that last thought. I don't just mean the obvious pleasure. I mean the whole weekend. We've just totally enjoyed ourselves.

Since I'm listening attentively for it, I hear when he enters the bathroom. "Can you get the light?" I ask. He does and then appears a few moments later, still squinting. He steps in on the opposite side and lets the water run over him for a bit until he snugs up behind me, brushing his arms down my sides while I wash myself.

"Too bad," he says "I would have liked sneaking up on you in the dark."

"Maybe another time," I say evasively. I don't particularly feel like dwelling on that thought at the moment so I turn around and order him to lean down, and begin to wash his hair. Hopefully we can just breeze past the fact that I was weird just then. When we're both clean, I hastily exit the shower and dress quickly. I tell him to do the same when he comes out still wrapped in a towel.

"I'm taking you to brunch," I announce.

"Oh? Nowhere too popular I hope," he grins. No, I don't plan on taking him to the same place where we ran into his grandmother's friends.

"It is, but you'll see," I say. I duck past him back into the bathroom and dry my hair a bit. Not thoroughly though. I'm in the mood to be up and at 'em now. I don't bother with makeup at all.

"Are we driving?" he asks hopefully when I emerge once again. I smile, and nod at him, noticing that he seems to be moving a little more deliberately now.

Our destination is another of Lafayette's finds. That man knows his way to good food. It's the ambience that I is particularly notable though. It's decorated in the theme of a nineteenth century royal explorer's society clubhouse, complete with tent screens, wicker furniture, pressed plants and pinned insects set behind glass displays, and above all, a spectacular tribute to the taxidermist's art in all shapes and sizes. Some people may find it a little off-putting. When you think about it though, it's no different than mounted heads of deer or bears or similar, which are common enough here in the South. Besides, we're a city of the weird and the strange. It's a part of our charm. What's a little stuffed anteater over a first class English breakfast?

As I promised him, the place is busy, but after a twenty minute wait we're seated in our own little screened off area. There are two big white wicker chairs with plump cushions facing opposite ways, each with a matching ottoman. There's a round table between, already laid with a teapot and mugs along with our silverware. Eric settles into his overlarge chair with a look of approval. When our waiter comes, I just tell him we'll have two full breakfasts. They have menus, but only if you ask for them. Before he can fill the teapot with hot water, I ask him to take it away and bring coffee instead. He gives a horrified little gasp, but then follows it up with a wink and a smile.

Eric is looking around, bemused. Presumably both at the décor and the fact that I've ordered for us both. Our server comes back with a carafe of coffee for the table and presents Eric with the Sunday newspaper.

"What do you think?" I ask, once I've poured out the caffeine rations for both of us.

"It's cute. High marks already for the chairs," he says. I knew he'd like them. "What did you order for me?"

"Full breakfast here is eggs, bacon, sausage, French toast, tomato, mushroom, and hash. You have to ask for beans if you want them. Did you want them?"

"No, that's alright," he says, mollified at my description of his order. He opens the paper and begins thumbing through the sections. "Do you normally read the paper?" he asks.

I grin. "When it's available. I usually read the news online. I'll take the local and the real estate sections."

"Real estate, huh?"

"It doesn't hurt to look."

"Fair enough," he says, handing over the sections I've requested. He takes up the business section and starts to peruse it. After a few minutes he begins to laugh. I glance over and he clears his throat.

"Arkansas Confederate," he reads, in what is apparently his anchorman voice, "determined to bolster it's flagging share in the software market for key products...blah blah blah... has this week announced the addition of a new executive management team. Arkansas continues to strengthen it's foothold in Louisiana, expanding it's New Orleans office with plans to make one hundred new hires this quarter." He rolls his eyes. "What a joke," he finishes, voice now returned to normal.

"That's so weird," I say.

"What, that they're telling the press they have plans to add jobs this quarter, or the fact that half of their crack new management team can't enter the state they're trying to footprint for risk of immediate arrest?"

"Just that you're intimately aware of things in the newspaper," I say. "To the point where you can correct them. Are you in there too?"

He shakes his head. "We were a lot when we were shifting offices. Lots of negatives in the papers here about us taking jobs out of state. Totally ignoring of course the fact that we took the workers too, and we did it to make room for new jobs here. Honestly, I can see why some of these bigger companies diversify into media, to control what and how things are said about you," he rants.

I frown at that. "That's a bit cynical," is all that I can manage.

"No, unfortunately that's just true. I admit my view of reporters is not unbiased, but come on. You have an even less clear picture of Arkansas than I do. Does it seem like the reporter did any of his homework on that little piece? Seems like they might as well have just copy/pasted a press release from Peter Threadgill's own office and printed it."

"It does seem wrong," I agree.

"It's just fucking unfortunate that the trend toward merely regurgitating the talking points to pander to the lowest caste of readership has become so ubiquitous that they're not even capable of doing justice to a four inch blurb on page five of the financial section." Ending his rant, he glances over at me with a look which tells me he is eager to have me agree completely with his well justifiable qualms about modern newsprint.

"Please don't say, " I mouth the word 'fucking', before continuing, "at the breakfast table." I say. "You're absolutely right, though."

He has a self-satisfied little nod, and goes back to reading. I almost want to giggle, as that was too easy. I just press my lips together and smile though. A few minutes later he asks if I've got a pen. He's found the crossword puzzle. I happily supply him with one, hoping it will be more enjoyable than reading the news. I know that partly he was allowing himself to get carried away, almost enjoying the ranting, but I think toward the end there he might actually have been upset. And there should be no upset today, because this weekend has been great, and because I have to leave in a few hours.

Our breakfasts arrive and Eric is impressed with the portion sizes as well as the food itself. He eats everything he is served, but when I try to offer him some of mine he shakes his head and pours himself another cup of coffee, sitting back with his crossword again. The other reason I'm so fond of this place if that they don't try to rush you. If you want to sit there after you finish your food just drinking coffee and reading the paper, they're fine with that. I continue to pick at my plate for a while longer as I page through the local section. Maybe there's something we can do for a couple of hours before I have to head north. I come across something that pulls me up short and scan the article quickly.

"Eric, you need to read this," I say, holding the paper out to him and sitting up from my slouching.

"No, I've read enough of this paper, just tell me," he says, without looking up.

"Eric," I say, putting all the seriousness I can muster into my tone, giving the paper a rattle in his direction for emphasis. "Please."

Glancing up curiously he leans over to take the sheet I'm holding up for him.

Hotelier, Driver Hospitalized Following Fatal Crash

New Orleans, Saturday. Sten Northman, 89, and driver Jake Purifoy, 37, were taken to Tulane Medical Center late Friday night following a fatal car accident on the I-10. Jeffrey Piven, driver of the other vehicle, and his passengers Sarah West and Lisa McGraw were declared dead at the scene. A fourth passenger, Brett Harris, died this morning. The four LSU students were heading north when their car apparently jumped the median to intercept Northman's vehicle heading south. Both Purifoy and Northman remained in critical condition...

"Get the check, I'm going to get the car. I'll meet you out front," he says, getting up and leaving the table abruptly.

He must have seen Eric's rapid departure, because our waiter was back to check on me the moment I stood to look for him. I thrust my credit card at him and asked him for the bill. He tactfully did not delay me with any inquiries over my clearly upset state, even though it seemed to take a long time for him to return. I just sign the bottom of the slip and tell him to add himself twenty percent and rush out. Eric is just pulling up in front when I exit the restaurant and he doesn't wait for me to put my seatbelt on before he is zooming us away towards, presumably, the hospital. It's just a few blocks away from the hotel. He starts checking his phone as he drives. Maybe he is looking for a missed call, because he definitely had not received this news. He dials a number as we speed west and waits for an answer, but there is none.

We arrive and park and he's already walking toward the entrance before I'm properly out of the car. I have to hurry to catch him but stay a few paces behind until he reaches the desk.

"Sten Northman," he demands.

The woman's cold expression, natural considering his curt address, softens slightly as she directs us to the intensive care unit. He takes my hand as we head to the elevators. I'm faintly relieved he hasn't forgotten about me. We leave the elevator and follow the hallway around to the ICU waiting room. He looks in briefly but doesn't see anyone to talk to there. We find a nurse and he asks after his grandfather. She tells him she can take him in, but he may only have two visitors, and Mrs. Northman is in with him.

"Go," I tell him when he glances down at me. "I'm going to call Pam," I tell him, and he is taken away to wash his hands and be fitted with a cap and gown, since the entire unit is sterile.

I wander back toward the nurses' station near the elevators. There are rather prominent signs indicating that cell phones cannot be used here. I ask if there's somewhere I can go to make calls, and one of the nurses points me down another hallway.

"Pam, hey," I begin.

"Sookie, hello. Are you done diddling my boss?" she snarks.

"Pam, Eric's grandfather was in a car accident on Friday night. We just found out. We're at the hospital, Eric just went in to see him."

"Shit. Is he okay?"

"We literally just got here," I say. "He is in intensive care. We don't know anything. We found an article in the newspaper this morning. All of the people in the other car died. Sten and the driver are here."

"Shit," she repeats. "What can I do?"

"I don't know. I can ask him, or ask him to call you, when he comes out."

"No. Well, you can do that if you want, but I'll be on the first flight out. I need to make some calls and get to the office before I go to the airport. I'll call you when I know my flight."

"Sure Pam. Thank you," I say.

"Alright, talk to you soon," she replies, disconnecting.

I stand there holding my phone for a few minutes, not really knowing what to do with myself. I'm genuinely startled when it rings. It seems incredibly loud. I answer quickly.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Good afternoon, am I speaking with Sookie Stackhouse?" comes a man's voice.

"Yes, this is she," I reply automatically.

"Ms. Stackhouse, this is Headmaster Keeting from the Peterson School. I'm sorry to call on a Sunday, but I'm going over my schedule for tomorrow and I realized that I don't have you on it."

"Pardon me?" I ask.

"I received your resume some weeks ago regarding our vacancy. Are you still seeking a teaching position?"

"Oh. Yes sir, I am."

"I realize it's quite short notice, but I am meeting with some prospective candidates tomorrow. I do apologize for not calling to schedule sooner. I've had a niggling feeling all last week that I'd forgotten someone I intended to contact, but then I found your email again and realized who I'd missed."

"Tomorrow would be fine, sir. I happen to be in town this weekend."

"Ah, very good then. Can we say eight-thirty? It's a bit early, but then, our first bell rings at ten to eight."

"That would be fine sir, I'll see you in the morning."

"Very good Ms. Stackhouse, looking forward to meeting you," he says, and disconnects. That was a bit surreal, but I really far more concerned about the Northmans right at this moment. I realize I've been away for a while so I head back toward the waiting room, but find Inge and Eric in the hallway.

"Why wouldn't you call me?" he's asking her. He is using the cold and angry voice again.

"You very plainly asked me not to contact you when we last spoke," she says defensively.

"I asked you not to interfere in my life, not to ignore me in a real emergency. Sookie found an article in the God damned newspaper or I wouldn't even know right now."

"I didn't know you were in town, Eric," she says.

"Have you called my father at least?"

"Yes, he's coming in on Tuesday."

"Tuesday?" I see Eric ask incredulous. "Grandfather is fucking d-" I realize that Eric was about to say dying, but he stops himself when he sees Inge's stricken expression. Instead he wraps his arms around her, and she starts to sob against his chest. I don't want to intrude on the family grief, but don't want to stand here awkwardly. I brush his arm lightly as I walk past him, nodding to the waiting room to let him know where I'll be.

A few minutes later he comes to join me, but Inge isn't with him.

"She's gone to fix her face," he says, in explanation.

"How is he?" I ask.

"Fading," he says stiffly. "Stable for the moment." He stands up and begins to pace around the very small room. "I need to take her home, she's been here since Friday night."

"Eric, why don't I go and get my car and drive her so you can stay here? It's about the only thing I can think of to be useful right now, and this way someone will be here in case there is any change."

"That...would be helpful. Thank you. We're not allowed to stay in there for more than a few minutes at a time every hour. They are more lenient on her as the spouse, but I can stay in here."

"Alright," I say. "Pam's coming in tonight. She's going to call me as soon as she has her flight information. I can let them know at the hotel what time she'll be in so they can fix her car and her room. Can I bring you anything back?"

"Maybe my laptop," he says distractedly.

"I'll bring it, but you can't use it in here," I say, pointing to a sign with a big red slash mark through a pictogram of several kinds of electronic devices. There's no television in here. There's an old-style phone attached to the wall by the door, several end tables littered with dated magazines, and more chairs. There are no windows. Despite the light blue walls, this is an incredibly depressing room. "Do you have a book with you?"

"Yeah, it's in the laptop case. Here," he says, fishing out the keycard from his wallet and handing it to me.

"Alright," I say. "I shouldn't be more than twenty minutes back then, it's close."

"Thank you," he repeats. I lean down and give his hand a squeeze as I leave the room. I pass by Inge in the hallway and offer her a commiserating little smile as I pass, but just keep walking to the elevators. Eric can explain to her where I'm going, or why I'm here, for that matter.

I head downstairs and exit the hospital. It's a very short walk. I give Trudy at the desk a small smile when I reach the hotel, but don't stop to chat. Instead I go right upstairs and pack up Eric's laptop. I grab him a long-sleeved shirt out of his closet as well, since it was a little chilly in the hospital. The book is indeed in the front pocket of the laptop bag. I call Pam again before I head downstairs to see if she knows her flight information yet. She gives it to me and asks after Eric. He seemed to be holding up, so I tell her that, and that I'm going to take his grandmother home so he can stay at the hospital in case there is news. She asks after Sten again and I don't have anything to report beyond that it didn't sound good.

I head for the valet and ask him to bring the Rabbit up and then duck back into the lobby to let Trudy know that Pam would be arriving today, and I gave her flight number, which Trudy assured me she could look up and have a car waiting. I thanked her and left. I parked in the fifteen minute parking right near the front door, which I figured was for the best, since even after freshening up, Inge had looked dead on her feet. I stopped in the gift shop and bought Eric a crossword puzzle book, in case he couldn't focus enough to read, and a new pen, since I'd left mine at the restaurant in our hurry to leave.

Eric was holding Inge's hands in his when I entered the waiting room. She was staring ahead vacantly, but Eric looked up.

"Fahma, Sookie is here to take you home now," he told her. He had seemed to calm down a bit now. He was talking to her a bit like a child, but I suppose that she'd been holding up all along here for a while now. She was entitled to let go a bit. Her eyes were dull and she nodded.

"Thank you, Sookie," she said, standing up.

Eric stood as well, and gave both of us a kiss on the cheek as we walked to the elevator. I handed him over his laptop bag and took his grandmother's arm in exchange. We walked sedately out of the hospital and over to my car. I held the door for her, and she buckled her seatbelt as I closed her in. I crossed to my side and entered and asked her where we were headed. She gave me the address and I headed off. I was unsurprised to find it was one of the very regal mansions in the garden district. It seemed to be a large piece of property. There was the characteristic iron gating around the entire perimeter. I got out and walked her to the door, where we were met by her maid, who had clearly seen us drive up.

She had a worried and anxious look that shifted more towards concern when she saw Inge. I introduced myself to her and let her know that Eric was at the hospital, and would call them if there were any change. She nodded and brought Inge inside, thanking me again. I wasn't sure what else to do, so I went back to the hospital to sit with Eric. I was definitely not going home this afternoon. For lack of anything else to do with myself I stopped and picked up coffees for each of us on my way back. At least if he decided he wanted one, he wouldn't have to drink the stuff from one of those hospital vending machines, right?

He wasn't in the waiting room when I got back, but I didn't bother to go and look for him. He could be in with Sten, or in the men's room, or making a phone call, or taking a walk. I just sat down and waited. His laptop bag was still here, so he'd be back soon. It was another fifteen minutes before he stalked back in, looking furious. He threw himself down in the chair next to me and reached for my hand like it was some kind of security blanket and held it in his.

"Did you get to see him again?" I asked.

"I went to call my father," he says.

"Is he coming?" I ask.

"On Tuesday," he says with ice in his voice. I don't know if he was aware I'd overheard that earlier or not. I guess he had called either to yell at his father, or try to otherwise impress upon him that time seemed of the essence.

"Will that be soon enough?" I ask quietly.

He shakes his head. I have nothing to say to that.

Greta, their maid, brought us lunch about three o'clock, and let us know that Inge had finally managed to fall asleep only an hour ago. She left very quickly, after taking Eric's cell phone number. I don't know about him, but I wasn't particularly hungry. We ate anyway, just for something to do.

"You need to get back to Bon Temps," he said. He'd not said anything for a while.

I shake my head. "I'm staying. I got a call earlier, I have an appointment in the morning, but I would have stayed anyway," I say. A nurse came to get Eric a short time later to let him know that Sten was awake. I tried to feel encouraged by that until he returned another half an hour later looking weary and wan.

"Is it an improvement?" I ask hopefully.

"He's been in and out of consciousness the whole time, they say," he tells me. "It's not his brain, he's lucid when he's awake, it's just the stress on his body, all his organs. He's just giving out."

I nod.

Close to nine o'clock that evening Pam calls to let him know that she has arrived and has gone ahead and cleared his schedule for the following day. He steps away and briefs her on the situation here, giving her instructions for the morning. A short time after that, they moved Jake Purifoy out of the ICU and into a different part of the hospital. He'd been stable for the last twenty-four hours, and his prognosis was positive, were the only details they shared with us. Greta returned with Inge after that and Eric sent me back to the hotel to get some sleep for my morning. I suggest going to Amelia's to stay the night, thinking it would be strange to be in Eric's space without him present, but he asks me to stay, and I can't really refuse him anything at the moment.

I wake when I hear him come in. It's after three. Sitting up in his bed in the mostly dark room I watch him where he stands in the doorway, watching me right back. I reach out my hand to him and bring him to the bed. We have sex before I fall back to sleep. It is forceful and intense and needful. We say very little. He is not there when I wake up.

I am subdued as I prepare for my meeting with Headmaster Keeting. I had not packed for interviews, so I put on a simple white dress with a blue sweater. It's something I have worn to teach before, so I hope it is acceptable. Arriving at Peterson, I park in the visitor's lot and walk inside and wait for the Headmaster in their main office. I realize that as I'm completely unprepared, I'm equally not nervous. I try to take some confidence from that, and tuck away my worry for the Northmans for an hour or so.

Headmaster Keeting is a stout, round-faced man of about sixty with a shock of pure white hair and a matching beard. He is about six feet tall with a firm handshake and a kindly air about him. As we sit, he apologizes once again for not contacting me in the usual manner. I tell him that I am pleased he thought of me at all, and we have a brief joke about the need for personal assistants. I think briefly of all Pam does for Eric, and he admits that he shares a secretary with the Deputy Headmaster, but could really use his own. He tells me a bit about my predecessor's involvement outside the classroom, including the math club and the summer program, which he hopes the new candidate will be able to pick up. I'm not faking any degree of my enthusiasm the more he tells me. The prospect of having students so interested in academics-based extracurriculars is exciting.

We focus on my teaching method, which effectively boils down to the fact that math is fun and that's what I try to emphasize foremost. Figuring things out and then proving you are correct is extremely empowering for students. Unlike the subjects I refer to as the humanities, math is not contingent upon interpretation. Not at this level, anyway. It is simple and elegant and unequivocal. I catch myself going on at length about the value of analytical reasoning and hastily finish my thoughts as I catch his amused expression, realizing I've been talking almost non-stop for about ten minutes.

"Do you have a favourite mathematician?" he asks.

"Oh, several I think. Actually, that's one thing I do try to incorporate in the classroom, the people behind the theories. I think it is nice to remind students that the concepts they learn to employ were first realized by human beings, as opposed to just formulae that fell from the sky one day. I tend to use these tidbits for my extra credit points on exams. But to answer your question, classically, Euclid, and in the relatively more modern era, Ada Lovelace, of course, and Florence Nightingale."

"Florence Nightingale, really? I would have pegged you for a Sophie Germain fan," he replies with a smile.

"With due respect to Ms. Germain, I have to give my nod to the nurse. Her work in statistics, particularly the practical applications, which were quite tangibly life-saving. And then her contributions to the visual representation of data... I mean, the woman practically pioneered the modern infographic," I say with a smile. "Obviously, I am a teensy bit biased towards the women for favourites sir, my apologies."

"Not at all Miss Stackhouse, it's a delight to listen to a teacher so enthusiastic about her subject."

We talked a bit more about the school's philosophies in comparison to others, and about teaching in general. All in all the majority of the interview ran more like a loosely guided conversation. It was pleasant. The Headmaster showed me out with another warm handshake. I had no idea if I'd hear from him. The candidate who was waiting for him when we exited his office looked quite prim and professional in her dark green tailored suit. I'd done my best on short notice. I could do nothing more.

I called Pam to find out how things were going with Eric. She informed me that he was still at the hospital, that Inge had been taken home again to try to get some more sleep, and there had been no significant changes. I stopped at a bookstore and found a book of photography and bought it for Eric. I didn't think he was actually reading his book, or doing the puzzles, but maybe this at least would be something to stare at beyond the blank blue walls. I found him in the waiting room, resting with his eyes closed. I put the book in his lap and knelt in the chair next to him and wrapped my arms around him, feeling his head fall against my shoulder. We just stayed like that for a while.


	12. Life Cycle

A/N

Dear Any Real-Life Estate Attorneys,

I'm sorry. I did my best.

Love,

Chicpea.

* * *

><p>Sten Northman died on Monday afternoon, just after four o'clock. It was I who went to retrieve Inge after Eric spoke with one of the doctors. I was sitting with him while he was told that Sten had taken a turn for the worse and the family needed to prepare themselves. My heart went out to the physician doing his difficult job. For all the miracles performed in this ward, there were moments like this where the only thing they could offer a family was time enough to say goodbye.<p>

I phoned Greta to let her know that I was on my way, and the circumstances, while Eric left with the doctor to go and sit with his grandfather. I waited for Inge in their foyer for almost twenty minutes. I'd assumed she had been asleep again and had to be woken. She finally joined me looking much softer than I'd yet seen her. Rather than a neat pants outfit with pearls, she was wearing a floral dress in soft pinks and pale green. She smelled faintly of rosewater and her hair was styled, though she wore no makeup. My chest tightened as I realized that she'd taken the time to make herself pretty for her husband.

When we arrived back at the hospital she went right in and Eric came out a few minutes later. I sat with him for only a short time before his grandmother sent for him again. I was alone in the waiting room for the last couple of hours. I guess they'd suspended the 'only a few minutes' rule for today. I could tell when it happened by the activity at the nurses' station, but Eric and Inge didn't come out for another half hour. When they emerged he told me he was taking her home, managing a nod and a look of confirmation to my unasked question. I went back to the hotel to wait for him, calling Pam on the way with the update.

Alone in his suite, I was unsure what to do with myself. I gathered his laundry into one of the bags for the service. Normally I'd busy myself cleaning at a time like this, but housekeeping had been in so I was left with nothing to do. I called Amelia, who had called the previous night assuming that I'd be home, and let her know what was happening. Pam came up for a while when she got back from their offices. She ordered dinner for us and a sandwich for Eric, in case he was hungry when he got back. She left two thin folders for him, one pertaining to work, and the other pertaining to funeral services.

"I'm not sure what they need," she told me. "But there are good contacts in there for anything I could think of. I've cleared his day for tomorrow, but tell him to call me if he wants anything changed. Everyone is being very accommodating."

I assured her that I would let him know everything. She had seemed to accept that I was being there for Eric, and without any of her usual light-hearted derision. I appreciated that since I felt awkward enough here without it.

He returned to his room late that night, looking exhausted. He let me lead him into the shower and tend to him before bed. I told him about the things Pam had left for him and he took a few minutes to go through everything before returning to join me in the bedroom. Our coupling that night began fervent and passionately, but by the time we found our release together he had grown tender and reverent. I was more than familiar with the concept of death-sex. People in mourning often have the need to find ways to make themselves feel alive. As outlets for that go, sex was probably among the healthiest. I didn't judge him for it. I'd been much the same when Gran had died. I woke early in the morning leaving him to sleep in. He was in sore need of it.

I'd gathered my things together the night before and was resolved to head back to Bon Temps today. His father would be arriving and there would be things for him to do for his family in which I had no part. I planned to stay until Eric's family called to summon him, but the first call he got that day was from Mr. Cataliades. After making the expected condolences, he pressed Eric to come in to his office, having some very urgent matters to discuss. Eric and I said goodbye then, and I asked him to call me if he needed anything, even just company. He assured me that he would. I got a very chaste kiss on the forehead from him as we parted downstairs. I called Pam shortly after I'd left, since I hadn't seen her that morning. I let her know that I was headed home, effectively handing over Eric into her sole care for the rest of the week. That's how it felt, anyway.

My drive home was uneventful. I made several calls on my way, returning most of those I'd received yesterday and Sunday evening, which I'd excused myself from taking at the time. Mrs. Park wanted me to come in at the high school tomorrow and I was happy to agree to that. Back at home, my mailbox contained four letters acknowledging the receipt of my credentials, and saying little else. I read them as "Thanks, but we're not hiring." One of them had been forwarded from Seattle. I called Jason to let him know that I was home, and what had happened to keep me in New Orleans for the extra days. He invited me to come for dinner the next Sunday. I showered and dressed in clean clothes. I'd had to re-wear an outfit mixed of clothes from Friday and Saturday this morning. I ran out to do a few errands. I needed some groceries, and to get to the library. The bank was already closed. I'd go tomorrow.

I thought of calling Eric, but I figured he would be busy enough without hearing from me. I sent him a text saying I hoped he was well before I went to bed that night. At three in the morning I wake to my phone ringing. As soon as I realize I'm not dreaming a horrible dread washes over me. I fumble around in the dark searching for the darned thing, hurrying to discover what can only be bad news. It stops ringing for a moment but quickly starts again which does nothing to soothe my nerves. I finally find it and see that Eric is the caller.

"Hello? Eric?" I demand.

"Sookie, hi, I'm sorry to wake you," he begins.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

"I'm outside," he says.

"Oh. Have you tried to sleep at all?" I ask. I settle back down on my bed. I'd told him to call me if he needed to talk. I'm glad he did, even at this hour. I feel my heart return to its normal pace.

"No, not really. I'm mean that I'm outside your house."

I get up and walk to the front door, twitching aside the curtain at the window. He is indeed, outside my house, leaning against his car, which is parked in my driveway. I hang up the phone and open the door, waving him over. I'm wearing a not-at-all-sexy oversized t-shirt with a cartoon character on it and a pair of what the kids call granny panties. Every girl's got 'em. I pull the shirt down around me a bit in a drowsy effort to make it form fitting, or to shield myself against the sudden chill of the outdoors, or something like that.

"Come in," I beckon.

He crosses to the steps and scales them with a few quick paces. He's right before me, pulling his arms around me gingerly. "I thought the phone was better than trying to pound on the door. I didn't want to scare you," he murmurs into my hair.

I wrap my arms around him in turn. I don't know how to proceed at this point. Asking him what he's doing here would imply that I'm not glad to see him. I am of course, but obviously something has happened.

"Do you have a bag?" I ask him.

"Just some fresh clothes really. Do you mind? I was hoping to stay here tonight."

"Mmm. I am too sleepy to come up with a sassy response to that. You're welcome as long as you like, of course. Go get your stuff. Are you tired? Should I put a pot of coffee on?"

"No thanks," he says, jumping back down the stairs and popping open his tiny trunk to retrieve a proportionally tiny bag. He bounds back to my side in the doorway. "I had some on the way here. More than some," he admits.

Yawning, I murmur with a sleepy smile, "You don't say." He's definitely showing some pep. I take his hand and pull him inside, shutting back out the night. I pull his bag from him and lead him through the entryway. I pause when we get to the intersection of the kitchen, living room, and the hallway leading back to my bedroom. I give him the choice of his options.

"Kitchen," he says, and I nod my agreement. I see this as the heart of a home. It is a good default. Also, the living room is still mostly full of unpacked boxes and antique furniture that is not terribly comfortable. He's made the right choice. I set his bag down in the hallway and pull his hand into the kitchen, flipping on the light. I point him to a chair and immediately go to the refrigerator. I hear him sitting down as I bend over and pull out a pitcher of tea.

"Have you eaten?" I ask.

"Not since this morning," he apologizes.

"Sandwiches okay?" I ask, and he nods. I pour out some sweet tea for both of us and then set the pitcher on the table so he can refill his glass. I pull out some bread and turkey and cheese and set them on the counter, then hold up mustard and mayonnaise for him to choose from. Instead he just nods, so he's getting both. I fix him two sandwiches, trying not to be self-conscious about my ratty outfit. He is wearing another of his well-tailored suits, though he's slipped the jacket off and hung it on the back of his chair. The only thing bespoke about my ensemble is the way it clearly states, "I certainly was not expecting a gentleman caller this evening." He's pulling out his cufflinks and rolling up his sleeves. Good grief, he's attractive. I set his plate down in front of him and stand behind him, running my hands across his shoulders, massaging a little. I pull his hair out where he had it tied back and run my fingers through it. I'd learned it was part of his "now I can relax" routine, but also, I was stealing his hair-tie. He gives a little moan of appreciation, either at the food or at my efforts. Probably both.

I take a seat as I pull my own hair back into something more manageable than its night time tangle. Yes, he's seen it worse. He's been directly responsible for making it worse. But it's three a.m. and Eric Northman is suddenly sitting in my kitchen. I am allowed to be a little fidgety. "How was your day, dear?" I hazard. I'm being a bit sardonic, using this quote. He's clearly had an awful day. I also wouldn't call him any of these pet names. It's a little too familiar just yet. Maybe eventually. Hopefully eventually.

"Abysmal," he says, tonguing his bite into his cheek so he can speak with his mouth full. He finishes chewing and swallows then, taking a long drink. He seems to be pondering where to begin. I see his brow knit while he's thinking.

"How is your grandmother coping?" I ask.

"She was resting when I got to the house. I only saw her briefly," he says.

"Your dad arrive okay then?" I ask. What else would it be?

"Yeah," he says, and stops there.

"How did your meeting with Mister Cataliades go?" I prompt. I'll just keep guessing until I suss out the problems.

He lets out a bark of laughter at that, even while his face shows not a hint of mirth. "Oh, excellent," he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You know, Grandfather actually did the whole thing yesterday. The trite, deathbed regrets, and saying he was proud of me and what I've made for myself, all of that."

I nod at that, waiting for him to continue.

"But evidently the _other_ key person who failed to visit him in the hospital was his estate attorney, who very clearly did not receive this touching last message." I still wait. He is both looking and sounding very tense. I have no idea the scope of what his grandfather's estate could have entailed. When Gran died, it was an hour long visit from Sid Matt Lancaster to receive the deed to this property and split the rest of her modest savings between Jason's and my bank accounts.

"He's left me his business," Eric finally explains. "All of it. His stake in the LLC which comprises their all commercial properties, effectively all of it. Fahma keeps a small percentage." I know enough about LLCs. Amelia has one. It's basically how you separate a business interest from your personal finances. They are very flexible in terms of how they can be set up.

"So, he has forced you into what he always wanted you to choose," I summarize, and he nods. "Did you know this was coming? Can you refuse?"

"Technically I can refuse, and everything will revert to my grandmother. She has made it very clear that she would be unable to manage it all on her own."

"Not your father?"

"He is specifically prohibited from receiving any portion of the LLC, with the way it was set up through the family trust. In order for him to receive anything, Fahma and I would have to dissolve the LLC, and then transfer to him in that way."

"Is that feasible?"

"I would not be able to afford the tax from the assets, on top of the estate tax which is already fucking enormous. Sorry," he apologizes quickly, for cursing at the table I assume. Can't really blame him right at the moment. "That's the genius of the whole scheme. It's my father who has received any liquid assets from the trust."

"Too late to return the new corvette?" I ask. It's a dim joke in a dim circumstance.

"It wouldn't help nearly enough even if I could. No, my options are to accept it, or push all the responsibility back on my grieving, ninety year old grandmother, who has also explicitly stated that she does not wish to go against Grandfather's bequest. So that guilt is personalized as well as implicit," he finishes dryly.

"But what about Area Five?"

"I don't know."

"So they've got you as they wanted you then," I repeat, now with understanding.

"Yes."

"What does your father say? Couldn't he help your grandmother to manage it?"

"Maybe could, but won't. He has no interest in devoting time to a business that will never belong to him. He would have her dissolve it, which again, she's opposed to on principle."

I frown. "Could you? I mean, help her, but not be the main guy," I say.

"I guess? If and when she's up to it. But not to sound like a morbid asshole, that would only be forestalling the inevitable." Because when she dies, it'll just be his problem again anyway, I gather. He takes another angry bite of his sandwich, treating it to a dark glower.

"How much work is it really? I mean surely your grandfather wasn't still going in nine to five every day."

"He was going in one or two days a week, plus monthly trips all over. There's a management company, which is based here. Which I also own as of this morning. Or yesterday morning, now," he says, glancing at the clock on the microwave as though he's just realized the hour. "Did you know that I am now directly responsible for the livelihoods of over nine hundred employees nationwide?" he asks brightly, possibly verging on emotional punch drunkenness.

"I hadn't even thought of that," I say with a gasp. The hotel in New Orleans had maybe forty employees, if you counted up all the maids, the people in the kitchen, the women in the spa, and the valets and drivers, all of that, and it was relatively small. A larger hotel could easily have over a hundred. Sheesh.

"I have," he says grimly. "So even if I wanted to ignore it all, and just abandon the whole thing it to its own devices, I can't."

"Could but _wouldn't_, Eric," I stress. Finally, I have something encouraging to say.

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes," I say simply. "You're a good man. You will figure this out." He sighs. Maybe I could try to notebook him through this. "Um, if you want...we could do a lab report on this later?"

"What?"

"Amelia and I have a method for problem solving we have used for a while now. It's not foolproof. You have to be mindful of drawing false conclusions based on emotions rather than facts. But regardless, it's really helpful for laying out a problem and organizing your thoughts. I could show you, if you want? It's helpful even for pinpointing the exact problem, which is not always clear."

"You and Amelia have developed a tactical methodology for coping with the shit life throws at you, which resembles a lab report?"

"Basically yes," I say, a little defensively. He had a little bit of a tone right then. He doesn't need to be casting aspersions on the notebook, or the notebook _method_, since, the first rule of the notebook precludes my telling him about the existence of the actual notebook. "It's very good. It's how I decided to tell you about the thing with Tara."

"That was a good decision," he agrees.

"Yes, we were able to determine that telling you had no moral downside, whereas not telling you would have put lots of people's jobs at risk, and support a vindictive nature, so these were the deciding factors."

"But your telling me may have ultimately cost your friend her job, which you seemed very upset about, if I recall correctly."

I frown at him. "Well I didn't intend that you would be able to figure her out. But we still considered that anyway, and she was one person, versus the potentially many that could be affected otherwise. On a macro level, that is an easy call to make. Even looking at it on the personal level it was you and Pam versus just her, so the scales were in favour of telling you either way."

He is giving me a strange, wondering expression, something mixed between amusement and curiosity.

"What?" I ask. "It works for us. If you don't want to try it, that's okay, I just find it to be a help."

"No, I was just distracted by you for a moment. Your mind seems like an interesting place to visit. I would like to try it. In the morning then?"

"It'll have to be after school. Subbing tomorrow," I explain.

"Alright. Should we go to bed then? Maybe you can get another hour or two more of sleep?"

I nod. That would be a good idea and I tell him so. I take his empty plate away and rinse it quickly in the sink along with our glasses. I just leave them there though. I'll wash them in the later-morning. I scoop up his bag and lead him back into the bedroom.

"It's an old mattress, I'm sorry," I offer, once he emerges from the bathroom in a pair of sleep pants, brushed and washed.

"I think I can handle it," he says as he climbs in on the other side of the bed. "Come here," he says, pulling me gently towards him, but allowing me to adjust myself. I cuddle back into him and he runs his hand over my arm then curls it around me to rest upon my chest. "This okay?" he asks as he burrows into my shoulder. He means the weight of his arm across me. I don't mind it at all.

I lift my arm up over his so I'm sort of holding him to me, while he holds me to himself. "Perfect," I say. A couple of minutes pass in silence before I ask, "Eric?"

"Hm?"

"How are _you_ coping?"

"Beyond the obvious?" Fleeing the city to parts unknown in the middle of the night may raise natural flags about how well one is coping in any given situation, yes.

"With the death," I clarify, giving his hand a squeeze. I haven't heard it all, but I'm pretty sure that what he ran from tonight was a combination of dealing with his father and the prospect of his unwanted new business. I want to know where his head is at though. He takes a long moment to consider his answer.

"All that, with his clichéd regrets... As maudlin as it may sound, it didn't feel clichéd when he said it. If he meant it, if it wasn't just what he thought he _should_ be saying at that time... It's just...It's my remorse too now. On top of everything else, I get _that._"

I try to puzzle that out, mentally looking to place Eric somewhere in the Kubler-Ross model. It could be anger, though he's not angry at the death, he's angry at his grandfather, and he has been angry at his grandfather for a really long time. It could be the depressed state, but that's such a vague designator, and he doesn't really feel depressed, just normally subdued and thoughtful. I have to stop myself, because I know darn well that the grieving process is not as simple as a five stage road to feeling all happy again. I turn my head around to his and give him a soft kiss, lifting my hand to stroke his cheek with the backs of my fingers. Our eyes meet and we hold each other's gaze for a long moment. He bows his head and kisses me on the forehead and I turn back around and he settles back into the crook of my neck.

"Get some sleep, Sookie," he whispers.

"Goodnight Eric," I say.

"Good night. Thank you."

My alarm is blaring loudly as it wakes me up with a start. Miraculously, Eric has not woken up so I practically leap out of bed and dart to his side to silence the incessant beeping. I whisper to him that I'm sorry if I woke him, in case I did. He's not snoring, so I can't be certain even though he doesn't say anything. I debate using the shower in the hall bathroom but decide against it. With the door closed, it won't be appreciably louder here or there, so I go into my bathroom and set the water running and tend to my teeth brushing and other morning particulars as it heats up. Once it starts to steam, I jump right in, quickly washing my hair. Shoot, how am I going to dry my hair without waking Eric? Hm. My full length mirror's still out in the living room, that could do I guess.

I'm hurrying in here. First, I have a bunch of things to do before I go, with the added task of getting some breakfast up for Eric. Second, I didn't want Eric to catch me in the shower. I did not have time for sexy fun this morning, because of _see reason the first_. When I was through with my shower, I twitched the taps off and hopped out, being careful to stay on the bathmats as the floor was quite cold. I dried off quickly and towelled through my hair, combing it out. I got caught up choosing between my short pink satin robe and my snugly blue terrycloth one. I went with snugly. I also pulled on some underwear before I left the bedroom. He was still pretending to be asleep.

I made a dozen each of corn muffins and blueberry ones. I cheated on the blueberry and used a boxed mix, but the corn ones were Gran's recipe again. I cooked up some onion, potato, red pepper, and ham, seasoned with salt and pepper in some olive oil, then reduced the heat and covered it to sizzle while I dried my hair in the living room. When I was done, I whisked together four eggs, a drop of milk, and a pinch of nutmeg and poured it over the vegetables and ham. I put the coffee on and sneaked the first cup for myself and sat down to leave a note for Eric. I just wanted to jot down a few things like where the spare towels were and my internet card that we bought, and the extra DVDs I brought home from Seattle which were still packed, but clearly labelled, if he was interested. The muffins were done by the time I was, so I swapped them out for the skillet with my version of a frittata in it and lowered the heat to warm. Then I went to dress in a grey skirt and a blue blouse, and I did my makeup and slid on a pair of pantyhose and shoes.

"Are you still faking over there?" I finally ask his prone form. He doesn't appear to have moved, but I am pretty sure he's conscious. He can't quite pull off the totally serene look he has when he's actually asleep. This is close, but no cigar.

"Yes, but only in the hopes that I'll actually fall back to sleep," he gripes. Giving up, he squints his eyes open looking over at me, then pulls a pillow over his head. I go to sit down next to where he's stretched out.

"Be awake for a minute," I say, pulling at the pillow. He pushes it away looking cross. It's adorable. I make a concentrated effort and succeed in not laughing at his pouting.

"I'm off for now. I should be back by three-thirty or four. Make yourself at home, okay? Breakfast is ready when you are in the kitchen, but it's in the warm oven so no rush at all." I bend and give him a sweet kiss at the corner of his mouth and then make a show of placing his pillow back over his face. He swats it away, and I stand up with a grin.

"See you later then, enjoy your sleep." I blow him a kiss and head outside, making sure to lock up behind me just in case he does fall asleep again, which I hope he does. Not that I exactly need to worry about crime around here. But with the luck that Eric and I seem to have around each other, the first burglary in Bon Temps in living memory will occur while he's napping if I _don't_ lock up. So it's being done. No need to tempt the Fates.

The teacher I was filling in for had a doctor's appointment with a specialist in Jackson that she could not miss. I was taking her French classes. We're one of the few places in the country where French is a better choice than Spanish or anything else as far as second languages go. Maybe way up north where they share a border with Quebec would be the other. Cajun and occasionally Creole French are more common around here, though still relatively rare. I've had only a dozen or so students, ever, who spoke either exclusively at home. It's too bad I think. If I ruled the Louisiana School Board, the whole curriculum would be split between English and French from kindergarten on up. Then they could spend the high school years exploring different dialects. This is such a big part of our culture, as a state.

Language classes tend to be lively as a rule - at least they were back when I was in school. There's so much talking back and forth between students and the teacher, with practicing pronunciations and conversational structure. I'm looking forward to a quick day and am not disappointed. Madame Beaulieu ran a tight ship it seemed. All of the homework was turned in as the students arrived each period without my having to ask for it, and most of the students were ready with their books open by the time the second bell rang. It was like that in every class. They apparently spoke only French in class, something Mrs. Beaulieu had just neglected to mention. The students spoke to me that way so I caught on fast. One or two of them might have been trying to trip me up. I don't think it worked though. My French is okay.

After the final bell I gathered up all of the paperwork for Madame Beaulieu and left it at the main office, then I high-tailed it home. Eric's car was exactly where it had been in the driveway, so he hadn't been so bored or in need of anything that he had to leave. That was a good sign! I call out hello as I come in the kitchen door. I notice that there are a lot of dishes in the drying rack, but I'm glad to see that they're there, rather than the sink. I guess if he uses lots of dishes it's no issue if he's also cleaning them himself. The muffins are nowhere in sight and the frittata is gone from the oven, which is also turned off. The coffee pot is still half full of cold coffee though, so I empty it into the sink. I guess I was a little nervous about what kind of houseguest he would be, knowing that he's accustomed to having service staff to some extent. I'm glad to see there was no need to be concerned. He hasn't responded to my calling out to him, so I head back to the bedroom and find him genuinely asleep.

His laptop is open on the bed next to him, so I just fold it closed and curl up next to him, rubbing my had over his chest until he stirs, pulling me flush against him.

"Hey," I say. "Sorry to wake you, but I figured you won't want to sleep in the day and be awake half the night again."

"Thanks, what time is it?"

"Quarter to four," I answer. I feel him stretching out his legs and back.

"I met your brother today. He came for lunch."

"He did?"

"Yeah. He saw my car when he was passed by which he didn't recognize, and then didn't see your car. I think he was expecting Bill when he first came in. But then he found me eating and said I must be me, and sat down."

"I should have told him you were staying. He didn't come in yelling did he?" I hadn't actually given any thought to introducing Jason to Eric. If had done, I would definitely have been present in the scenario. Who knows what they got up to talking about by themselves.

"Nope. He seems like a nice guy. You're out of cold cuts now though, and bread. At least whatever there was right on that front shelf, is gone."

"Oh, that's fine. I'll make some more bread later."

"You're going to _make_ bread? Like with your hands? And flour?"

"More like with my bread machine and flour. It's very easy. I can show you if you like."

"I'd be curious to see. How was your day?"

"C'était génial," I reply. It was very good, and it was mostly in French. This is a succinct description. "How was your day?"

"Uneventful. I talked to Pam this morning, and made and returned the calls I could not put off."

"Was your dad on that list?"

"No. Pam is talking to his wife, who is here. She is helping to plan...things. With her usual efficiency if not her usual zeal. The funeral is going to be on Saturday."

"Are you staying till then?"

"I don't know. Maybe. If you wouldn't mind, obviously."

He gets a kiss for that. "You're welcome as long as you like. Do you have much you need to do in the city before then?"

"Pam has basically pushed everything back until next week. Sophie Ann is being very accomodating. Her lover, Hadley, died last year and she took an extended leave of absence at that time. So now she is very... hm. Sympathetic to family tragedies, is what she said when we spoke. Ruthless bitch in general, but I guess everyone has a weak point," he finishes. Then as an afterthought, "Arkansas is just sucking it up, not like they have another choice."

"That's good," I say. "About Sophie being understanding that you need the time. I guess she's not aware that you're in the process of coping with anything besides the death though?"

"No. I'd like to have my plans made before I speak with her or the Board."

"That's reasonable. Any luck on that today?"

"Not really."

"You ready to work on that?"

"Not really."

"Okay," I say, giving his hand a little pat. "What do you want to do tonight?"

"I don't have much of a preference. Could we go out maybe? Your brother mentioned a bar they hang out in."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "You want to go eat fried foods and drink cheap beer with my brother and his girlfriend?"

"Well, and you, too. Supposedly there's a pool table and a dart board."

"If that's what you'd like to do, we'll do it. I'm not playing darts though, you will be an inherent cheat with that wingspan of yours."

"Good, I'll call Jason," he says, giving me a kiss on the forehead and rolling away to find his phone. I watch with a bemused smile as he phones my brother and says we will meet them at seven. I suppose they'd exchanged numbers after their impromptu lunch date.

He hangs up after a very brief exchanges and then stretches as he tries to unrumple himself. He is either oblivious to my amused confusion or is ignoring it.

"You acknowledge that is a teensy bit odd, yes?" I finally say to his backside, referring to the apparent ease with which he's struck up accord with my brother. He's hunched over looking for something in his bag now.

"The way you can't stop leering at my ass all the time? I'm getting used to it by now." He glances back toward me and gives me a wink. It's too late to pretend I wasn't looking. I still turn away, caught red-handed. "It was only _odd_ back when you were still with Bill and doing it while brushing off all my flirtations at the same time," he continues. My mouth falls open. I close it. I feel my face burn a vivid pink. I can think of absolutely nothing to say to that. So I just sit there dumb while he plays through. He leans across my bed to grab his laptop. Leans across _me_ to grab his laptop. Putting the admirable feature right in my field of vision. He is doing that on purpose! I resist the urge to reach out and give him a smack right there. I turn my head away and bite my lip. He is there with his thumb again and a soft kiss a moment later.

"Only teasing," he says.

"I know that!" I snap, then I catch my tone and quickly soften my voice. "I'm surprised, though glad of course, that you got on with Jason. I hadn't really pegged you for having much in common." That's what I say to him. Mostly because it's about as great a departure from the other thoughts running through my mind as I can muster right this minute. What I'm actually thinking about is that if Bill had been aware that I thought Eric was attractive when we were together (And if Eric had noticed it, how could he not have been?), maybe that explained part of why he didn't feel bad at all for going a few steps further than just looking at someone else, his own self. I hadn't actually been that obvious had I? Yes, Eric's attractive, you can't really help but notice it, but I hadn't been playing coy. I didn't enjoy all his little remarks back then. He was teasing, but back then it hadn't seemed as playful, it had seemed almost mean.

"...the Saints. Plus we share a hatred of Bill Compton," Eric finishes. I hadn't really heard what he was saying, but that remark brought it right to my attention. I was trying to change that subject, not return to it! Why would he have even brought Bill up? I guess maybe he was ennumerating commonalities between he and Jason? This was the only thing that really made sense, in the context of our conversation. That's still a little tactless. So they were talking about me and Bill over lunch? Just lovely. Eric is waving his hand in my face now, is that supposed to be funny too? I lift my hand to catch his and bring it down to his side again.

"Where did you go there?"

I just shake my head and get up off the bed. I give him a little pat on the chest so he doesn't think I'm mad at him or anything, and just head back out to the kitchen. I'm sure there's something to tidy up in there. I wander out and find the coffee carafe where I left it in the sink and mindlessly take some white vinegar and start scrubbing it out. Since the vinegar is out, I go ahead and decide to clean the whole coffee maker as well. I start putting away all the dishes from the drying rack. I take down the ingredients to make a loaf of bread in the machine. Eric has appeared in the doorway and is watching me, but he doesn't say anything. I look up and ask if he wants to watch. He nods and moves into the room, standing just a couple of paces behind me as I start measuring in the yeast and water, then sifting out the flour and salt. I add some cinnamon and raisons once everything else is mixed in, then I go ahead and close the top and turn it on.

"So then, in about four hours, fresh loaf of cinnamon raison bread, baked and everything." I say. I realize that as I've been talking that I sound a little flat, but I figure that this is better than trying to force cheerfulness and ending up sounding manic. I'm not really in the mood to be Crazy Sookie right now.

"That's pretty cool," he agrees.

"It is, I love this thing. For some things you still need to do it by hand. If I wanted to do the cinnamon as a swirl, for example. You actually need to roll the dough out and then curl it up on itself. But this is mostly very good," I explain.

"Mm. That is very interesting indeed. So what was all that about?"

"What was what about?" Because Eric's bullshit-meter is that easily fooled.

"You appeared to take issue with the fact that I wanted to befriend your brother and then practically ran in here to attend to the urgent monthly cleaning regimen for the coffee pot."

"What? No. I mean it is peculiar that you two get along, just as I said. But I am overall pleased about it."

"So what is wrong then?"

"I was having some unpleasant thoughts," I say evasively.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Please elaborate on that," he requests bluntly.

I sigh. "Bill. I was thinking of Bill. He and Jason did not get along as you know. And what you said about me in regards to you, before... I didn't realize I was doing that, then. If he saw that, perhaps he thought it justfied his...him...with her," I finish. We both know the facts of the matter, but it doesn't make it any more pleasant to speak out loud. Hopefully I've got my point across.

"Sookie, I was making a joke. Call it wishful thinking in retrospect on my part. I thought you realized by now that I enjoy teasing you just a bit. I didn't mean anything serious by it."

I nod, knowing this is true of him. It's as Pam said, Eric likes to pull my pigtails. I like it, most of the time. I take it for a show of his affection, and it's endearing for that reason. It's one of the things that lets me know that he likes me back, as much as I like him, and I appreciate that we can just enjoy each other without the declarations. As he has said, it's implied.

On this subject though, when it comes to Bill? It's just too soon for me for it to be a joking matter. I've been doing my best to not think of him much at all, because it makes me feel bad. Yes, I know that's avoidance, but it helps. Now that the subject has been broached, I'm back to feeling disconsolate. It is not as though it would be appropriate to be comforted by Eric on that score anyway. I don't really want Bill to be any further part in anything to do with Eric and I. This is why I didn't really want to talk about this. Eric's just starting at me, waiting for me to say something.

I frown. "I don't want to...I don't want to be dwelling on him," I say carefully. "I'm sorry, I just got caught up short with a lot of...unanswered questions."

"I think that's normal," he says lightly. It's the fact that I'm doing it in proximity to him that doesn't feel normal. I don't really want to bog him any further down with my issues. I know he knows I have them, but I don't want him to see it.

"Maybe you should just ask him," he suggests.

My eyebrows raise. "Eric, I..." I start, but am unsure how to finish. I don't want him to feel like I was appealing to him for advice about Bill. But I don't want him to feel like I don't want his advice in general either. Ugh. I freaking hate Bill Compton.

"You're probably right. There's a lot that I'd like to say and to hear. I guess this is what people always describe as needing closure."

He nods. "That sounds correct."

"I'm so sorry," I say, staring down rather than looking at him.

"If it makes you feel better, I accept your apology. I don't really feel it's warranted. I think you should write him a letter, and have Cataliades deliver it. I'm going to get off the subject now." He says it all quickly.

"Thank you," I say, looking up again. "So, dinner with Jason and Crystal?"

"Should be fun," he agrees.

A couple hours later we were seated in a booth at Merlotte's, the local bar here in Bon Temps. The one. Small town and all. The owner, Sam Merlotte had only moved out here from Texas a couple of years ago, but the residents of our sleepy hamlet had embraced him as our own and so in turn had embraced his bar. It was just busy enough to seem full and lively without being so busy that we had to wait to sit down. The juke box was going with a nice mix of classic rock and classic country, good time songs that everyone likes. The waitresses were scooting around in tight white t-shirts and short black shorts, and they all had a smile for my brother, who was clearly one of the regulars. Eric and I had shared a couple of looks at some of the flirty greetings he received, but Crystal seemed to take it in her stride. She was the one sitting down here with him, after all.

Jason and Eric were talking cars, with Jason trying to convince Eric of the pickup truck's emminence, which he deemed particularly well suited to a man of Eric's stature. Eric argued back that it was a matter of style, which got Jason going on the sleek trim he'd just had finished on his beloved Dodge Ram. The two of them were really on a roll, and managed to empty our first pitcher of beer before our food arrived. I watched my brother reach over to take the untouched mug he'd poured for Crystal, assuring her he'd replace it from the new pitcher. She just smiled and said she'd be fine with her water. Water sounded like a good idea to me as well since I didn't think the cook skimped on the salt any more than he did the trans fats.

Crystal was one of those women that stayed thin as a rail no matter what she ate, so somehow I didn't think it was a health choice on her part. Unnoticed by the men, I caught her eye with a little smile and glanced at her water so she'd catch the question when I lifted my eyebrows. She gave me a very shy smile. It was a little odd to see such a demure expression on her face, but I was pretty certain we'd just communicated that my brother was soon to be a daddy. I gathered that he didn't know yet. I wondered how he would receive the news. I for one had a little trouble stifling my huge grin.

After she and I had eaten our fill, we nudged Eric and Jason out of the way so we could go avail ourselves of the pool table. She was quite good, and I had a very self-deprecating time of it until they joined us. We played a couple of games in pairs with Eric claiming he needed all his concentration to make up for my poor skill. He managed to close the gap somewhat, but I'd doomed us. He wrenched the cue stick out of my hand theatrically after our second consecutive defeat but then wrapped an arm around my shoulders hugging me to him as he planted it in front of him like a spear.

"If Crystal weren't here, I might be able to blame it on the fact that you just don't have the necessary reach, but I think you're just terrible at this," he says with a grin.

"Short jokes on top of this? Way to kick a girl when she's down!" I retort, letting my fingers tickle up his ribs causing him to flinch and bend, completely destroying his confident chieftain pose. He is trying to wriggle away from me without actually letting go of me. He's probably feeling the beers at this point. Not to a messy degree, just to a boisterous one. I finally duck under his arm and swatted him once on the butt which caused him to whip around and shoot me a very steamy look. Mmm. I nudged him back toward the table where Jason was racking up the balls again. "Alright, see how you do without me then, I need to visit the little girls' room," I say as I move away. Crystal hands over her cue to Jason and joins me.

I wasn't wearing much makeup but I stood in the mirror touching myself up after I'd washed my hands. I was trying real hard to be polite, but I just couldn't. I grinned at Crystal in the mirror when she came out.

"Jason doesn't know yet?" I asked.

"I just found out today for sure," she admits, suddenly looking uneasy. Catching her mood I try to school my face immediately. She's not drinking, but, that doesn't necessarily mean that she's sure what she wants to do.

"Have you ever talked about it?" I ask.

She nods, but she's frowning. "Just in passing, you know, one day he'll do this or that on the house, for the kids." Well, that's encouraging. I really hadn't ever thought about Jason settling down. It was nice to know that he'd at least considered it for himself. "I hope he wants it," she says very quietly. I reach over and give her hand a little squeeze. Immediately my instinct is to reassure her that even if he doesn't, if she decides she does, she'll have support in it. Again it's not my place, so I hope my little gesture and my smile suffice. After that, she fixes up her makeup and we head back out. I can't help but feel a wee bit smug when I see that Eric is losing even without my hinderance. I wander over to the jukebox and make a couple of selections while they get back to playing for a while. I just settle up on a stool tapping my feet along to the music and enjoying the atmosphere.

When they start debating another pitcher, Crystal cuts in to remind us all that she and Jason at least have work in the morning. I catch Jason and Eric sharing one of these looks men give each other that communicates in full, "Yes, I'm going to be bossed around by my woman now, certainly you will understand - Yes, indeed I do, carry on sir." It's a subtle and complex code, man-language. I get a tentative hug from Crystal while Eric and Jason are doing some sort of shoulder cuffing handshake thing. We switch places, and Crystal gets a peck on the cheek from Eric as he tells her it was nice to meet her and we should all hang out again sometime. I get a rib creaking (literally) hug from Jason, and he takes a moment to tell me quietly, "I like 'im." That pretty much plasters the smile to my face as I watch my brother's girlfriend take his keys out of his hand when they exit.

Eric comes back to my side and takes my hand so we can follow them out, walking across the parking lot to where he parked his car a bit away from the others.

"We should have taken yours," he says, frowning at his keys.

"We can catch Jason and Crystal?" I offer.

"You can't drive stick at all?" he asks.

"Technically I can, but I don't claim to excel at it," I hedge.

"It'll have to do," he says resignedly. "Just be really gentle, okay? The clutch is pretty tight." I agree that I'll be careful. I'm not about to encourage him to drive instead if he's hesitant in the slightest.

We get into his car and while I'm waiting for the seat to move up, he goes ahead and starts it, and begins making adjustments to all the levers. He puts my address into the satnav, which amuses me to no end. First because it's all of three turns, and second because it's my address, and I'm driving, in my town. He just grins in response, assuring me that he just wants to make sure we don't get lost. I only stalled twice on the way home, which I considered a victory. This is despite the fact that either time it happened Eric spluttered and winced theatrically as if it were his own heart that were seizing and not the...whatever bits inside the engine that stop working when you shift wrong in a manual transmission. He was taking it personal, is the point.

"Sorry for that," he says. We reached my house intact and he's just taken his keys back. "I didn't realize I'd had too much until we got out in the fresh air."

"You had fun then?" I ask.

"I did. Your brother's great," he says.

"Yeah, I think so too. Some find him to be an acquired taste though."

"She's nice too. She's pregnant?" he asks to confirm.

"How did you know that? She told me she just found out."

"I noticed your reaction to her untouched beer, and caught your little glance-smile exchange there." So much for thinking we'd been slick!

"Did he notice too? She hasn't told him yet, I think she's nervous."

"I don't think he did. It'll go over well though. You'll be an Auntie Sookie soon."

I smile at the thought. "Hard to picture my brother with a baby."

"I don't know him that well, but it seems like it would fit with his whole vibe here."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"He seems like a very by the book kind of guy. So, he's hit the right age, he's got the girl, family follows."

"I guess so."

"You're not happy for him?" he asks.

"Of course I am, if that's what they choose to do."

"Yeah, I don't know what I would do in that situation," he ponders. Wow. I was not expecting him to dwell on this subject. "Probably whatever she wanted to do I guess." Yeah, he's definitely more than a little buzzed.

"Alright, I'm going to stop you there before you family-plan the next batch of dysfunctional Northmans."

"What, you don't want kids?" he asks. Oh boy. Really?

"Aw, honey, it's a bit soon for that doncha think?" I coo with dripping sarcasm.

"I go back and forth between wanting four and wanting none," he says, ignoring my remark. "Part of me wants to prove I could do a good job, and then part of me thinks that no I couldn't."

"Eric, you hide your shitfaced _really_ well in public."

"Thank you," he grins.

"I'm going to the bedroom, do you want to join me?"

"I thought we weren't doing any more family planning?"

"Jesus Christ, Eric! That is not sexy! Stop talking about babies! I am trying to distract you by offering sex!"

"Sookie, you know where babies come from, yes?" he asks in a serious tone, leering at me.

"The stork, right?" I quip.

"No, that's a common misconception," he pauses for a full beat before catching his inadvertent wordplay and grinning. "Ah. Aha. Mis...conception. Do you see?"

At that point, I just give in and crack up because drunk-Eric is hilarious. I don't think he's so drunk that he won't remember this conversation either, so I'll be able to laugh at him tomorrow, too. Very gradually the laughing became tickling, and then petting, and kissing. We did move to the bedroom and no more was said about babies while we practiced the theory of making them.

I wake up with a smile on my face and Eric sprawled halfway across me. I had almost completely wriggled free of his clutches when he tightened his arms around me again and pulled me back. Catlike, he stretches himself and lifts his body over me, caging me in.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

I look up at him, and brush my fingers across his cheek. We'd fallen asleep damp and sated and he had a truly amazing case of bedhead going for him. I smiled.

"Coffee and shower," I say. "You can stay in bed if you want, I'll be back in a bit."

"No, I'll get up. I need some water," he agrees, giving me a quick kiss and then hoisting himself up so that he's kneeling over me. The sight of him makes it difficult to move away. We had not bothered with clothes last night and it was obvious that Eric was very much awake right now. I lick my lips.

"Hold that thought," he says, before jumping up and heading into the bathroom. I wait patiently for him on the bed, listening to the water run and turn off, and him move around, and then stop moving around. Finally he opens the door.

"So, Sookie?"

"Yes, _baby_?" I ask. He stops short and doesn't say anything. I widen my eyes give him my sweetest of smiles. After a moment, I bat my eyelashes at him.

"Not funny," he says. The smirk he's wearing completely belies his denial.


	13. Eusocial Anxiety

A/N This is about two days later in posting than I intended it to be. Do not worry, I am not losing steam, just terribly busy this week. I continue to be flattered and encouraged by your warm reviews, alerts, and favourites, so thank you!

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><p>"Oh stop pouting already, you're a cute drunk. I promise to <em>try<em> not to bring up your endearing babble again," I say. I hear him huff. I've just cleared away the breakfast dishes and am now digging around the odds and ends drawer for what I am sure is buried at the bottom here. Yes, there we are. Not _the_ notebook, but _a_ notebook. Returning to the table I set it down and then refill his coffee mug.

"Are you ready to try sorting yourself out?" I ask.

"Not really, but I need to come to a decision today, so, let's try it. Should I be holding that?" he asks, eying the pen in my hand.

I explain to him about the need for objectivity in recording the facts, but then hesitate. "If you want, I can just explain the process and you can write it up? I don't want to pry too much."

"No, I would appreciate it. I'm sure I will ramble a bit, and you can just grab the key points." I give him a nod. He gets it.

"So, overall, what's the problem?"

"The problem is that I have inherited the Northman Group of hotels and several other commercial properties as well as the Northman Management Group, which I don't want, but which are now suddenly my responsibility." I start writing. I don't think this is exactly the problem, but we'll figure that out later.

"Okay. Why don't you want them?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, consider it like just any job for a moment. Why would you not want that job? You don't like the work? You don't want to do the travel? You're not interested in maintenance or expansion? You don't want to be responsible for all the employees?"

"It's not really any of that specifically. I don't like the idea of just magically being the CEO overnight. I also object to the way in which it seems to have been forced on me."

"Alright. But those things are cosmetic."

He glares at me.

"I'm not saying they're invalid reservations. I'm trying to determine if the circumstances were different, if it is a job that you could ever see yourself doing, or if you would never be interested because of the nature of the work."

"I'd have to think about it. I've never given it real consideration because of the other circumstances."

"That's fair," I say, nodding.

"Have you been in touch with the management company?"

"No. His attorney informed them."

"Okay, you probably want to do that soon."

"Noted."

"No, I am making the notes, but I will make that one," I say with a grin, writing furiously.

"Are you happy at Area Five?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I've earned my place there. I've moved upward continuously and through my own momentum. I've developed a network of contacts inside and outside our organization that I'm disinclined to just throw away. I'm in the middle of this current project which is going to be a huge coup for us if it works out, and I'm loving the shit out of the fact that I'm making it work out." I smile at that. It's always a pleasure to hear people talk about what they're passionate about.

"So you would like to complete the merger."

"Of course I want to complete the merger. This is all I've been working on for months."

"What's the timetable on that?"

"Two or three months."

"Do you think it would be possible for the management company to handle the NG until then?" I went ahead and abbreviated the company name in the notes.

"I don't know."

"I'm making a note for your meeting," I say. "Would you feel comfortable _not_ taking on your grandfather's company?"

"I don't know."

"Explain that please?" I ask.

"I don't know if I could sell it. I mean, even if I had the full ownership, which I don't, or even if I could convince Fahma... I don't think I would be willing to try to convince her."

"If money, and the taxes weren't an issue, would you give it over to your father?"

"No."

"So you're going to do it then."

"I don't have a choice."

"You do. You could sell the entire thing, or sell it off by pieces. You could get a loan for the taxes that is guaranteed by the value of the properties. I bet you could get the purchaser to front the money for the taxes if they thought they were getting a deal."

He sighs.

"Alright, new line of inquiry," I say quickly. I don't want him to get frustrated with me or this. "What do you do for a living, Eric?"

He raises his eyebrows. "I'm the Senior Vice President of Corporate Development with Area Five."

"Yes I know that, but what do you _do_?"

"I... facilitate... growth," he says carefully. "Day to day, it is meeting with the business development team to evaluate markets where we want to have a larger impact, and strategizing the best way to achieve these ends, be it in developing new projects or products in-house or obtaining new assets. And then there are always opportunities that just come to us and so we are constantly evaluating them. If something is necessary or too good to pass up, and the Board approves, we plan and we act."

"So you take your cues from the Board?"

"In part, but a lot comes from the bottom up as well as the top down. The people who work inside cultivating our assets in whatever respect tend to be a lot closer. They have ideas and understanding that just wouldn't occur to executive management, and so I need to make myself available to that."

"Wow," I say.

"What?" he asks.

"You're quite the mover and the shaker, Eric. I guess I hadn't fully realized."

"I'm not just a pretty face, Sookie."

"I never said that," I say. "So, do you manage people? Your team or whomever?"

"No not at all really. I just expect people to do their jobs just like I expect things to work. I would be totally bogged down in irrelevant minutia if I let myself, but that's not my job."

I nod at that. "Okay, one other thing?"

"What, we're done already?"

"We're nearing a stopping point. Actually, two other things," I say. He gives me a nod to proceed.

"Would you keep Pam?"

"What? Of course. I mean, if she wanted to. She might wish to stay with Area Five, but I would definitely offer to keep her with me."

I smile again at that. I really can't picture them not being a pair.

"Okay, last difficult one for now, then. Why do you think that your grandfather left this to you?" I see his brow wrinkle while his scowl settles in again and quickly hold up my hand to stop him. "And before you say 'to screw me over' or 'to manage my life', try to take a minute to not think of your grandfather as a villainous old mastermind in a leather chair in a darkened library who spent his evenings plotting your misery while stroking a hairless cat. I am asking you what your grandfather could have been hoping for, _for_ you, not what you think he was trying to do _to_ you."

He sighs again. "Pass." Yeah, I think not. Sorry buddy.

"No," I respond.

"I don't know."

"Then think about it." He sounds like one of my students who decides they are done learning for the day halfway through class. I give him a couple of minutes to ruminate before nudging him again.

"Do you honestly think that your own grandfather would name you to inherit the work of his life as some sort of punishment for not wanting to be involved during his lifetime?" I ask.

"You keep trying to push it in the best light, but you don't know him."

"You're right, and I _never_ will, so I just have to take your word for it," I say, adding a bit of ice to my tone. "If you can answer that question with a yes, then I promise you I will back off and say nothing else about it unless it's an idea on how to untangle you from this mess."

"No, I don't really think that," he finally says. Duh.

"Good," I agree, and take a second to let myself soften again. "And, I am going to go ahead and assume that you acknowledge that you weren't just being handed something to keep you busy and out of trouble like you were idiot royalty, yes?"

He waves a hand with the acknowledgement I was asking for.

"Alright, I'm done for now then," I say. I stay sitting for a while making notes and leaving him to think in silence. He's got a very vacant, weary look about him when I finally finish and set the pen down on top of the very scrawled over couple of notebook pages. He is holding his coffee cup, which is still half-full and must have gone cold. I get up and take it from him and refill it, and then I come around behind him and hug around his neck and shoulders.

"That felt like therapy," he says, coming to.

"Sorry," I say. I'm not really sorry. He could probably do with a little therapy about some of these family issues.

"No, it's fine. Probably necessary," he says. I kiss his neck. Smart man. "I need to make some calls," he says.

"Okay," I say, pulling away.

"We will do more later? Go over the conclusions and write the report?" he asks. I smile. I have a little surge of validation that he's finding it helpful.

"Sure. Bring me your dirty clothes first though?" He nods and heads back to the bedroom to get his things. I will be able to keep myself busy with laundry and tidying up breakfast while he makes his calls and continues to ponder things. Eric returns a short while later in an undershirt and his lounge pants and sneakers.

"I'm going to go run," he explains, handing over his jeans and other shirts.

"Okay. If you go straight back there's a path in to my woods that goes up to Magnolia Creek and loops back around, or you can just go on the road."

"Your woods?"

"Yeah, we have the land all around here. Up to the cemetery in the south, back up over the creek east and north. There's game trails back through there if you really want, but granddaddy actually cut out a path way back when. Jason keeps puts down mulch in the fall after the trees come down in the summer storms. It's nice."

"I'll try that then."

"Sure, you just head straight back, it's hard to miss."

Thanking me he heads off to run and think, or run and not think. I'm not quite sure of his process, but I understand the impulse. I put his things in the wash first. Hopefully they'll be done by the time he gets back. I strip the bed and get the towels. Mrs. Park called while he was out and asked if I were free to be up at the elementary school again tomorrow, but I declined, letting her know that a friend from town had a death in the family and I'd be going to the funeral. I wasn't exactly sure how us getting to New Orleans would work. Presumably he would leave tonight or tomorrow and I would follow him in my own car.

After finishing all my indoor chores I walked down to the road to get the mail. We're a ways back from Hummingbird Road and normally I just pick it up from the car when I'm driving in or out, but I'd been making the effort to grab it when it came in while I was waiting to hear from schools. I had an official, "Thank you for applying, we will keep your resume on file," letter from Hestia. I also got my next monthly bill from the hospital which made me wince. I tucked it away with the rest of my correspondence on the counter.

I sent a text to Lafayette just telling him hello only because I hadn't talked to him in a bit. I knew he'd have been in touch with Amelia and probably knew all that was going on in my world. I still like to check in. It's always nice to let people know you're thinking of them. After that I started envying Eric the outdoors and went out to the garden to putter. I didn't have anything to plant, but there's always something to do. It had been a couple of years since Gran had kept vegetables and there wasn't much left out there but a mess of weeds and what I thought had to be some very stubborn rhubarb. I was up to my elbows in dirt with my barrow heaped full of weeds when Eric strode up, glistening with sweat and looking lickable.

I covered my eyes from the sun glare so I could look up at him. "How do you even do that?" I ask him, part way between agitation and adoration.

"Do what?" he asks.

"I work out for a couple of hours and I end up looking like a drowned tomato. You go run for the same amount of time and come back looking like, well, like that," I gesture up at him and turn away again at the sheer unfairness of this world. Though I suppose since he's insisting on looking like that right _here_, the world wasn't being all that unfair with me over the whole issue. I grinned to myself as I stood up. He started laughing at me once I did.

"You're covered in dirt," he explains. He leans over and brushes something out of my hair.

"Oh, if only I had someone to shower with," I lament, lifting the back of my hand to my forehead, possibly adding another dirt smear on purpose.

He grins, but doesn't make any advance to sweep me off my feet or anything. I try not to feel offended. I suppose it's best that he be left to think. He and I seem to have a tendency to lose ourselves in each other. It's been a very welcome distraction, but it _is_ a distraction. "Are you done out there, then?"

I shrug in response, looking back over the vegetable patch. "I could finish a bit more or do something else. What is your plan for the rest of the afternoon?"

"If you wouldn't mind lending your network card, I was going to go on the internet and learn about things I do not know pursuant to my inheritance."

"Sure, I can keep myself busy and stay out of your hair then. Your stuff is in the dryer on the porch, could you bring the towels out then, after you clean up?"

"No problem."

"Alright then, go get clean and I'll come bother you later."

I kept myself busy in the garden for another hour and then hauled all the debris I'd pulled up over to edge of the woods and started tossing them by armfuls back beyond the tree line. It was mostly too wet for the burn barrel. I brought the barrow, filled with my gardening gear, back to the shed. There was a very old lawnmower in there. I wondered if it still worked. Jason had bought a riding one a few years ago, and had justified the expensive purchase by the fact that he could easily load it in the back of his truck and tend to the lawn for Gran as well, which he'd continued to do. I decided to just go ahead and clear the shed. It was a nice day, and it would keep me busy. There was a lot of junk. Old broken pots and cracked plastic trays from seedlings, an old kinked hose, some cobwebby old toys that had belonged to Jason and I were tucked in the corners.

I ducked into the house to retrieve a couple of the extra boxes I'd brought back from Seattle. I knew they'd come in handy! I taped them up, taking little care to make them pretty. I was more concerned about keeping the bottoms intact. I spent the rest of the afternoon packing up the little shed, putting everything that would have to go to the dump on the one side, and leaving just the few tools that were salvageable or in use along the other. I'd ask Jason if I could borrow his truck to haul all this stuff away some Saturday. It was ready to go, at any rate. As I was puttering, I thought of how nice it might be to have something like a greenhouse, or at least a shed with windows, so I could do seedlings. A thought for the future, maybe.

I went in the house to find Eric at the kitchen table with his laptop, the notebook, and a small folder full of documents spread out before him. He looked up from making a note and smirked at what had to be my dishevelled appearance. "Hey," he greets me.

"Hey yourself," I smile.

He asks me if I'm all done outside and I tell him that I am. He has a look of work about him. He's dressed in jeans, but is wearing a button down shirt, albeit with the cuffs rolls back on his arms. I'm filthy, so I don't bother getting anywhere near him, and just head back to get myself cleaned up while I leave him to his work. He's still at it once I've finished, even after shaving and drying my hair. I catch myself annoyed, like I'm waiting around to be able to talk to him. I decide that this is silly, both to do and to be annoyed about, so I head out to run errands. I visit the library and the Walmart. I had to do a bit of grocery shopping since my guest had a healthy appetite. I picked up some seeds and some plastic planters for the garden. If he were still busy tonight, I'd at least have a project. I also brought home a pizza and some garlic knots. I wasn't sure about his toppings, and was still feeling awkward about interrupting him, so I chose my preference.

He lit up when I walked in with the pizza. He glanced at the clock on the microwave and looked momentarily surprised at what he saw there. It was after seven.

Setting the pizza box on the counter I asked, "Would you mind clearing off the table for a while?"

"Oh, sure," he says, jumping up and pulling his papers together back into a neat pile for the folder. "Sorry, this is how I work at home, the table always has the most room."

I nod. The thought of him trying to work hunched over my great grandmother's writing table in the front room was amusing, and that would have been his only other option really. I head out to bring in the other bags from the car and find when I return that he's gotten a couple of plates down and is carefully folding the second of two paper napkins in half. I put the things away while he 'sets the table', getting a couple of glasses down as well. I'm struck by the strange domesticity of the scene. It more feels like it _should_ be awkward, than actually is. He rumbles in appreciation once I pour the tea and sit down, giving him leave to open the pizza box. He's got no qualms with mushroom and pepperoni. Good.

Eric somehow manages to outpace me two to one on the slices, even while he's doing most of the talking. He spent most of the day reading up about the Northman Group holdings and the management company and about the industry in general. He's had Pam schedule a meeting with the management company for Monday morning.

"It's a bit short notice, but I guess I'm the boss so whatever is convenient to me is convenient to them."

"True," I agree.

"I need a clearer picture on what they are going to need from me immediately and in the long-term," he continues.

"Sounds like you've made a decision then?" I ask.

"At this point you could say that I'm resigned to it. Ideally, I can take six months and transition out of Area Five and into the other. That's the best I can hope for, is enough time to finish what _I_ started and depart with accomplishment under my belt, rather than leaving abruptly." Resigned was the right word. He sounds almost hopeless.

"You sound a bit like a man putting off a prison sentence," I tease.

"Am I not?" he asks sharply.

I frown at that but don't make any response. Call me a coward, but I'm not particularly interested in drawing his fire. I have seen Eric behave like a real unpleasant ass when he's not having his way, and I don't want that guy to make any appearance at my dinner table. I wish I could pull him out of his funk, but I'm just not sure what to say.

"I'm thinking I'll head back tomorrow in the late afternoon so I get in by the evening."

"Alright. When should I follow?"

"You're coming?" he asks, surprised. Um. Had we not discussed this? Wait, had we?

"Uh..." I start, instantly apprehensive. "I guess I assumed I would? I know I didn't know him very well, but I was there when he...and I thought maybe you could use the support. I'm really sorry Eric, that is completely rude of me. I don't know what I was thinking, inviting myself."

"It's not rude," he says lightly. I can't really read anything from his tone or expression, which only adds to my worry that I've made a serious error in judgment.

"Obviously it's a time for family. It's just that since you're not terribly close to them I thought you might be able to use a friend. Oh God, so presumptuous," I ramble. I fold my hands into my lap, grasping at the napkin laid there. I still myself before I can shred it in my mortification. I'm straining not to show it, but I figure it's already too late. Do you take your bed-friend to your grandfather's funeral? Of course you freaking don't, Sookie! I pour myself some more iced tea and take an idle sip.

"Anyway, it's not like plans were set in stone or anything, so no big deal. I really didn't intend to be tactless, I hope you'll pardon it." I'm trying to sound blithe. Is it working?

"Sookie," he begins.

"Did you want another slice, or should I wrap them?" I ask, starting to stand up. He grabs my wrist, not angrily, just as a gesture for me to stop and look at him.

"I can't say it would be _nice_ if you came," he says, staring hard at me when I turn to him. "But I would appreciate your being there. I didn't assume you were coming because _I_ wouldn't go if I didn't need to. Even apart from the occasion, it will be an unpleasant day."

"Eric, I really don't want to intrude, or uh, cling," I say weakly, wincing internally at idea that he could be thinking either of me.

"Sookie, if you're not busy this weekend, do you want to hang out with me for what will hopefully be the shittiest day I'll be having all year? You'll want to wear something a bit dressy, preferably not red."

I sigh, but nod.

"Do you want to just ride down with me? We could come back up Saturday night and then I could leave Sunday afternoon?"

"That's a lot of driving for you."

"I like driving."

"Let me think about it? I will probably feel better having my own car with me. We do not know if something will come up," I say. He nods.

"So yes, I want another slice," he says, finally releasing my wrist as I settle back into my chair.

"I'm glad you don't mind the mushrooms," I say. Yeah, that is what I go with to try to banish the lingering weirdness from the room. It works well enough because we go back and forth about the aberrant predilections we've encountered, pizza-wise, and soon we're back to what I've come to think of as comfortable for us. After dinner we settled down on my bed to watch a movie on his laptop. His, because the screen is larger. I tease him a little about men and giant viewing screens, citing the giant televisions that Jason and Bill have.

"Even Lafayette has the largest television that his room will accommodate," I say.

"Are you implying that we - that _I_ - am compensating for something?" he asks playfully.

"Uhm...no," I say, and I can't help a little grin. Yeah, definitely not.

"Are you sure?" he presses. Also literally. He shifts the laptop out of the way and presses his groin against my hip as he gives me a saucy little smirk.

"I... yes. Yes, quite sure. No inadequacies for you," I say, patting his hip with a proud little smile.

Grinning he continues, "Actually I get the bigger laptop for the wider keyboard, because you see my hands are quite large." He runs one up my hip and stretches it across my waist for emphasis. His fingertips just brush the underside of my breast. He wraps them across my ribs. He leans down and nuzzles into my hair. When he speaks it's in a low voice tinged with lust. "It is too difficult for me to type on the smaller ones." He kisses my ear. "All of my dexterity is wasted there." Did he just call me fat? I so, _so_ do not care right now.

"Mmm," is about all I can manage before he is kissing me. We did not finish our movie.

We woke Friday morning to the sound of Eric's phone ringing incessantly. He answered with a groan and a grumble. It was Pam, letting him know that there was a family dinner planned for this evening, and giving him an itinerary for tomorrow, and for Sunday. Apparently it was to be a whole weekend ordeal of mourning. Eric was an only child, and so was his father, but Sten had had siblings and cousins, and a variety of very extended family, as did Inge. Eric said he barely knew most of them, which was easy enough to believe since the Northman clan didn't seem like one to go in for the annual summer picnics.

I got a call a short while later from Amelia, asking me if I'd be coming down this weekend. She was going to be away up in Nashville with her father. He was looking at buying a property there, and felt it would make a better impression with the prospective seller if they came across like a family business. This was part of the dynamic between she and her father, and simply how they showed their caring. Something tells me that if she, or I suppose when she, is bequeathed her father's business, she won't have nearly the same objections as Eric. She wants to build for herself on her own, but she takes enough interest in what Copley Carmichael is involved with that I don't think she'd have any true reservations about ultimately taking over. I found myself wondering if her father respected her, or if he was simply indulging her. I know that she respected herself more for all the hard work she put in. I suppose in a way she is learning her father's trade on her own, though possibly with a safety net.

"Amelia?" Eric asks. I guess he's heard the end of the conversation.

"Yeah, she was letting me know she'd be out of town this weekend," I agreed. "You should meet her sometime. I think you'd get along."

"Is she much like her father? I do know Copley, or have met him, at any rate."

"Hm. I think she must be, though I don't know him very well either. But I was thinking just in terms of her work... I don't know, maybe she would have some advice or, well, it just seems like you two have a fair amount of common ground."

"Maybe," he says noncommittally. "I wouldn't mind meeting her some time."

"Some weekend then," I suggest, and he nods.

Eric and I, well, _I_, decided that we should drive separately so that I could return on Sunday by myself. He had the busier Monday, and that was that. Maybe he would still skip some of his family stuff, but it wouldn't be on account of me. I resolved not to say anything about it either way. He teased me that we should race. I suggested that I should have a thirty-minute head start. He said that would probably not be enough. I packed my little rolling suitcase along with a garment bag with my black suit as well as a nicer dress for evenings. It was only two nights, but I'd packed for four. I felt a little Pam-ish. I made us up some lunches to eat in our respective cars and we were off by mid-morning.

We chatted for a while on our phones as we drove, which was a little odd in itself. It only lasted about half an hour until I got a call, and then a short while after I called him back, he got one. We just gave up after that and I didn't hear from him again until he'd arrived at the hotel. I, of course, was still about forty minutes out. Tsch. Well, we can't all be speed demons.

"This is the I-10, not the Autobahn, Eric!" I finally huff out.

"You know, I've never actually been there," he says. "But I will tell you a secret."

"That sounds promising."

"Well, not that promising. The deciding factor for me on the Corvette, was when Prince Albert von Thurn und Taxis got his ZR-1."

Laughing I say, "I have no idea who that is."

"He's uh...well he's a prince of Germany, obviously. He's more famous for being a young billionaire, and being big into auto racing. As a driver, of course. He is the same height as me."

"Are you... _a fan_?" I grin. Who would someone like Eric ever look up to? Some playboy prince race car driver, naturally.

"Maybe a little," he admits. Cute.

"So one day you will go to Germany in your 'vette and live out your dream of breaking its speedometer." I can almost hear him smile when I say this.

"That would be fun. I've taken my old one to the track before where you can really drive it fast, but it's just not the same as driving on a regular road."

I chuckle at this enthusiasm. At least the man knows what makes him happy. I said goodbye a couple of minutes later as I was getting into heavier traffic near the city and needed to concentrate. I sent him a text when I finally did arrive and he came down to meet me just as I was coming in the lobby. He took my bags from the bellhop and shooed him away. The poor kid looked quite intimidated when Eric addressed him. I guess the staff had been informed that Eric was no longer the guest of his grandfather, but the owner and ultimately their boss. No one had ever seemed nervous around him before.

"He was just doing his job," I scolded once we got on the elevator. He rolled his eyes. He'd noticed the bellhop's anxiety too.

"Then he can do it like he's always done it, which involves him staying at his post ready to cater to guests. They've been trying to prove their helpfulness for the last hour. Did you stop for lunch or something?" I tickled up his ribs to show my disapproval at his teasing.

We arrive at his room and I see that he's already resumed his desk at the dining table. I follow him into the bedroom where he hangs my garment bag for me next to his things. When he turns around he looks a lot more serious.

"So," he says, then hesitates.

"Hm?" I prompt.

"The dinner is in three hours," he says.

"Are we meeting them at the restaurant, or your grandmother's house?"

"My father and his wife are here. Down the hall, actually. I was going to call them and see what time they wished to meet downstairs and we can go over to get Fahma and whomever."

"Ah, have you seen them yet?" I ask, referring to his father.

He starts to shake his head and as if on cue, there is a knock at the door. He lets out an aggravated little sigh at the interruption before heading back to the entry. I follow a few feet behind him, hovering near the bedroom doorway. He answers without checking the peephole and pulls the door open wider once he sees who is there. A man who can only be Eric's father enters followed by a narrow blonde woman. The man looks to be over sixty, with thinning hair a sandy mix of grey and the same wheat blonde that Eric and I share. Their noses are similar, and their eyes, but this man has a wider jaw and is on the verge of being jowly in a way I could never envision for Eric. He's also half a head shorter than his son, and his disdainful scowl is an expression I've rarely seen on his Eric's face. Eric tends to hide his disdain better. It's not that he doesn't feel it. The woman reminds me of an aging model. Her face is a bit too smooth. Some of the natural lines that come with age are absent in a way that up close looks strange, though while far away probably passes acceptably for youth or preservation. Her smile is polite.

"So this is where you've been buried all week," his father begins, treating me a cursory glance. Excuse me?

Eric did not think too much of that either. "Sookie, please meet my father Viktor Northman and his wife..." he starts to say.

"Ana," she interrupts, turning toward me.

"Ana," Eric agrees. Did he really not know that, or did she just assume he didn't? What have I put myself in the middle of here? "This is Sookie Stackhouse," he offers his father and the apparent Ana. Nothing else.

"The schoolteacher, yes," Viktor confirms. "My mother has mentioned what a help you were to us last week Miss Stackhouse," he says, as an identifier, not as a 'thank you'.

"How do you do?" I ask, straining to uphold my courtesies. Was that my tense voice? Yes, I believe it was.

"Eric, we were told you'd gotten in an hour ago. We expected your call. There are a number of things that you and I need to discuss, and while I would have preferred to do so on Tuesday, now will need to suffice," Viktor tells him.

Eric does not turn to look at me as he stares at his father. "Yes," he agrees, in his cold and formal tone. "Sookie, will you please send down for coffee service? This will not take long."

I'm surprised to see that when Eric heads for the door with Viktor behind him that Ana remains.

"Please sit down," I offer, gesturing toward the couch and chairs in the living area. "I'll just be a moment."

I retreat to the bedroom and call down for room service to bring up coffee, and something light to eat with it. "Something like an afternoon tea, but with coffee," is what I literally asked for, and it got me a chuckle from the woman in the kitchen I spoke with and assurance they would be right up. Since I'd already excused myself for a time, I went ahead and ducked in the bathroom to freshen up a little bit. I'd already spoiled the first impression by being rumpled after my long drive. I would just have to do better at dinner. Returning to the suite I found Ana seated in one of the chairs staring fixedly at absolutely nothing that I could discern. What on earth was I going to talk to this woman about? I joined her in one of the wingback chairs.

"I understand that you have been working with Pam attending to all of the plans this week," I hazard.

"Pamela Ravenscroft, yes," she recites. "Very helpful girl."

"Yes, she is," I agree. Dead end there, I guess. Let's try, "How is Inge doing?"

"As expected, I am sure. We have done what we can to ensure she has had a restful week."

"I am sure she appreciates your handling the particulars. I cannot imagine what she must be going through."

"No, I do not imagine you could." O-kay...

"Will you be staying in town for long?"

"We fly home on Sunday night."

"And where is home?" I inquire. It's never been mentioned.

"We are in Las Vegas this time of year," she says.

"Oh? Where do you summer?" I ask. This seems like the type of question that this type of woman might be used to hearing.

"We have a home on Lake Tahoe," she answers.

It continues this way for another twenty agonizing minutes until room service arrives, bearing a large carafe of coffee, four cups, some pastries, and finger sandwiches. I'm so grateful for there being something not awkward to do that I'm sure I've spoiled my dinner. I learned that they also use their Tahoe house in December. I learned that she did not care for the spa here at the hotel, nor for Louisiana in general. She felt it was too damp. The Garden District seemed quaint and cramped. At least these were things on which she expressed an opinion. She had no children. They kept no pets. She was from California. She did not ask one single thing about me.

When I heard the mechanical door lock clicking to herald Eric's return I practically leapt to my feet. Ana stood as well. We both faced the door, and while I had no idea the look on her face, mine had to be expectant. Eric entered alone and held the door when Ana began to walk toward him. She said nothing as she walked past him to exit, and he let the door slam closed behind her. He shook his head at my many unasked questions and grabbed up the phone on the table nearest the door.

"This is Eric Northman. Give me Stuart," he barked. Then, after a few moments, "Yes. Good afternoon, Stuart," he begins, sounding stiff, but then after a moment, his anger shows. "Stuart, for your reference: while I was forced to accept your reporting of my comings and goings to my late grandfather, I do not accept it now, nor will I again in the future. The liberty you took today in informing a _guest_ of this establishment of my personal whereabouts demonstrates a degree of impropriety I find appalling." He pauses, obviously letting the man answer before cutting in again. "I did not invite your excuses. I don't give a fuck whom it was. The only response I want to hear from you right now is 'Mister Northman, it will never happen again.'" Another pause. "Thank you," he finishes, and slams down the phone receiver.

I take it his conversation with his father did not go well. I want to pity Stuart for catching the brunt of Eric's ire, but I suppose he was in the wrong if he'd called up Eric's father the moment he arrived. He should have simply given a message to Eric that his father was waiting. I pace slowly toward him as he stands there seething silently. When I'm close enough, I reach out and lift my arm to rub up and then down his back. He stills when I touch him and takes a deep breath, forcing himself calm.

"I need a bit," he says, turning to me. I nod. "You might want to use the other bathroom to get ready," he simply says, and leaves me where I stand. I hear his bathroom door close. I hear the fan go on, so he must be getting his shower. I lift my garment bag from his closet and wheel my suitcase across to one of the other two bedrooms. It's a bit smaller than Eric's, with what looks like a queen sized bed, rather than the California-king, but the décor is no less nice. The Jack and Jill setup has the bathroom between this room and the other, identical, bedroom. I suppose there's no need for three, since like the rooms I'd stayed in downstairs, this suite has a powder room near the entry. It made me wonder again what the top floor suites were like. Whole apartments with kitchens maybe.

I stepped into the decadent shower and pondered what I could do for Eric while I soaped my hair. The only thing I could think of really that didn't seem too mollycoddling was sex. Soothing words and a hug were probably not going to cut it, and there was clearly no trying to excuse his father. I stood there letting the shampoo wash down the drain for a solid two minutes while I weighed the pros and cons of just going and joining Eric. I decided just to go for it, steeling myself for a worst case scenario where he sent me away. I shut off the water and walked quickly, dripping wet, back across the suit. The bathroom door wasn't locked, so I let myself in.

He had his back to me with one hand resting against the wall as he leaned forward so his head was under the stream of water. He was stroking himself with his other hand. Great minds think alike, I suppose. I edged in behind him and watched his body go rigid when I was within inches of him and he finally sensed my presence. I continued moving toward him and ran my hand across his hip as I pressed myself flush against his back. I kissed softly between his shoulder blades as my hand found his length. I ran the flat of my palm across it's soft tip and over Eric's own hand, my fingertips brushing at the base of him. I let my other hand run from the back of his thigh across his cheek and up his side, wrapping my arm around his chest.

He spun around then and his lips crashed onto mine. One hand fisted in my hair and the other grabbed my ass as he pushed me backward into the shower wall. He bent and caught my nipple between his lips, tongue darting across with delicious urgency. His forearm came around under me and he lifted me easily off the floor. My legs went around his hips as my back slid up the wall. I wasn't fully ready when he sheathed himself inside me in one sharp thrust and my cry was met with his groan and he kissed my lips, my jaw, my neck. I held my arm around his neck, cradling his head to me as he began to move with celerity. I felt the fingers holding me up dig into the soft flesh of my bottom and I let my other hand drop between us as he lowered his gaze to watch me and our joining. The fast intensity was nothing sweet or playful. I felt all his strength as he drove into me, his hips pounding against my thighs. I squealed as I came shuddering and brought him with me eliciting a long, low moan. He slipped out of me and I let me legs drop to the floor. He let himself fall against me, pinning me to the wall, his head bent to the crook of my neck. He panted and kissed me, telling me I am beautiful. It felt like gratitude.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a husky voice as his breathing evened out. He pulled away from me to see the answer on my face and I nodded at him and lifted a hand to his cheek. I can see the concern in his face as he lets his hand drop to my side and stroke down my ribcage. His care makes me smile.

"Safe to say you can stop treating me like I'm made of glass," I whisper, and his expression relaxes.

"You may regret that by the end of the weekend," he warns. Waggish as he tries to sound, I get that he's only partly kidding.

"We'll see, Mister Northman," I say with a smirk. "Better this, than abusing poor Stuart or the phone. This at least is enjoyable for both of us."

He darkens again. "He was out of fucking line," he growls.

"He was," I agree, indulging him. "It won't happen again."

"If it does, it will be the last time," he threatens. I nod at him. That's fair. Yelling and cursing at him maybe wasn't, but I assume Eric knows that, and I don't have to say it. He pulls away from me then, drawing me forward back into the blissful multidirectional spray of the shower. I use up half the little bottle of conditioner on my own hair and leave the rest for him. I wash him very thoroughly, taking time to kneed my fingers into his muscles in what I'm hoping is a soothing massage. He lets out little noises of appreciation so I figure I'm doing an okay job.

When we could find no further reasons to stay in the shower he turned off all the faucets and I moved to step out. Just before I could, he caught my wrist and pulled me back to him in a tight embrace.

"Thank you," he says.

"Any time, stud," I fleer, patting his backside.

"Not what I meant," he says seriously.

"I know," I whisper.

We weren't long getting ready after what had been rather a long shower. I found Eric in a navy blue suit and a dove grey shirt with his hair neatly braided back. My dress was soft lilac (It may be evening, but it's still springtime!) and I wore it with an ivory lace shrug that my Gran had made for me, and ivory pumps with lilac accents. I think it looked nice, and Eric agreed. Eric and I went downstairs and he called up from the desk to let his father know we were waiting. I wondered vaguely how he would cope with the car ride since apparently sharing an elevator was a no-go. The answer turned out to be that we positioned ourselves at opposite sides in the back of the limousine that picked us up and took us to the restaurant. Inge, and her and Sten's relatives, were meeting us there.

It turned out to be a very large party. Seventeen of us in all were seated at two tables in the private dining room of an upscale restaurant. Before we took our seats I heard Eric making sure that the hostess knew the bill was to come to him at the end of the meal. I am fairly certain he also tipped her then and there to ensure his request. Ah. Finally, the promised dinner time posturing! Eric was seated at the head of one table, with me on his right and Inge on his left. He was clearly being the alpha male. It made sense, I suppose, since it was Pam who had orchestrated the dinner and chosen the restaurant, on Eric's behalf. She'd flown back to Seattle for the weekend, and would return again on Tuesday to be at Eric's disposal here.

Viktor was seated at the foot of the opposite table, adjacent to Ana of course. They were as far apart from one another in the room as they could be. Eric requested wine for the tables, and though we had two waitresses that seemed to be dedicated to our room throughout the evening, the process of ordering seemed to take forever. When finally all were situated with drinks served or poured, Viktor decided it was time to make a speech. He stood up and cleared his throat and I watched Eric's face harden. I let my hand drift to his thigh under the table and grinned at him. He grasped it perfunctorily returning my smile briefly before his attention snapped back to his father. I breathed a soft sigh.

"We are glad for all the family who have joined us for this weekend," Viktor began. "Though I regret the circumstance, I know my father would have appreciated seeing his family together. It is in times like these when we are reminded of what truly matters - the life of a man, the loved ones he has left behind, and his legacy. Though tragedy has taken Sten from us all too soon, my son Eric," and here he lifts his glass in Eric's direction, even while not actually looking at him, "assures me that his work will continue. He can only hope to build the rich and full life that my father did. The boy who always wished to stand on his own feet now stands on the shoulders of a giant, and we must hope he will rise to the occasion."

Okay, even I am struggling to keep my composure at this point. Eric is _so_ not a boy. And the shoulders of giants? That is robbed from one of my favourite quotations in academia. It is uttered of figures like Einsteinn in relation to Copernicus or Galileo, who themselves stood on Ptolemy. With due respect to Sten Northman, just no. And 'we can only hope'? What are you playing at buster? This time it was Eric who nudged me. I must have let my frown show through my internal tirade. I smoothed my face and gave him a small nod, letting him know that we were on the same page. Viktor must have said a bit more, but I had missed it.

"And so, I lift my glass in memory of my father, Sten Northman, a man who exemplified excellence in everything he undertook. We shall rarely know his like."

Eric and I lifted our glasses and sipped dutifully. I glanced across at Inge, who had gone misty-eyed and nodded Eric to her.

"Fahma, how have you been holding up this week?" he asked her, and they began to chat about how helpful Pam and Ana had been to her.

"And you are Eric's _belle_?" one of his great aunts asked me. It may have been a second cousin. The introductions had not been very thorough, as there were simply so many of them, and they all knew each other obviously. I nodded in response. As far as they were concerned, that was a fine word for it. Honestly? As far as I was concerned that was a fine word for it. I answered a few questions about myself and made polite inquiries in return until our food arrived. After that the old women began a very ghoulish discussion of other funerals they had recently attended, which almost seemed as though they were looking forward to tomorrow with some degree of anticipation. It was very strange. A very long time later, after coffee and dessert had been cleared, our server returned with the check and brought it to Eric. Viktor had attempted to signal for it, which was noticed by both Eric and I, and perhaps some other family members, but Eric was plainly in charge. He paid and stood and thanked his family all for coming before offering his arm to his grandmother.

I followed them outside while we waited for her car. He sent his father and his father's wife back without us and had the valet call a cab for us. I didn't have any objection. We'd caught one or two snippets of his father's conversation throughout dinner, wherein he had related that Eric had refused his offer to assume management of the properties and that he had "valid concerns" about the future of the Northman Group. I wanted to find out exactly what his father had wanted to discuss before, but I was patient, even while I was feeling very nosy.

"One down, two to go?" I offer, once we're seated in the back of the taxi cab.

"If I thought he had even a molecule of affection for me I'd say it was reverse psychology, issuing me a challenge, but at this point, I think he honestly wants me to fail."

"Eric, what's going on? What did he pull you out for earlier leaving me to entertain the plastic ice queen?" Okay, maybe I'm not that patient. Also apparently a little cranky.

"He pushed the issue of me pressuring Fahma to let him buy us out. His offer was the cost of the taxes, and effectively enough for her to live another twenty years in the life she is accustomed to, and enough for me to 'buy my own house in this godforsaken swamp so I don't have to bring my wholesome little chippy back to a hotel to carry on my trysts'. I freaked right the fuck out on him on all accounts."

"At least I'm wholesome."

"After that stunt in the shower, he was probably closer to the mark with chippy." My jaw dropped. Was he serious?

"Sookie," he said. I had turned away. I didn't answer. He took my chin in his hand and turned my face to look at him. "It's not fun to tease you if you don't acknowledge it's a joke."

"It's not always fun to be teased. Your aunt asked me if I was your belle. I just nodded so I wouldn't have to explain."

"Explain what?"

"Whatever this," I gestured between he and I, "is."

He frowned. "Sookie, what do you think is going on here?" I didn't say anything for so long that he sighed and let his hand drop. I caught it and held it in my lap.

"You surprised me," I say. "I thought you were an asshole, and then I thought you were helping me because of a combination of pity and wanting to have sex with me. And then I found I like you, beyond being grateful to you. I like being with you. And I am concerned for you. And of course I very much enjoy having sex with you." I try to finish with a little joke, hoping to deflect some of the very real and true things I've just said.

"I have always liked you," he said. "I am surprised as well, though. I don't do..." he looks around as if something will occur to him in the sparse contents of the back seat. For lack of anything else, he lifts his hand, held in mine, as if to show me. "...this. But I am enjoying this. And yes, of course the sex as well," he said. "I haven't seen anyone else. Have you?" I shook my head. "Then we will continue doing this, yes?" I nodded. "My _belle_ is a mute," he says, pondering the word.

"My _beau_ seems to talk enough for us both," I say.

"Beau sounds better than boyfriend, but it seems like it's more common to say girlfriend. How about 'my steady lover?'" he asks.

"Nope."

"Just my lover then. Like in one of your books."

"You're going to get smacked, boyfriend," I say, channelling Lafayette directly. He laughs, and pulls me to him, kissing my temple. We rode in silence for a little longer before I finally asked him, "So, you're going to do it all as well as you can, just to spite your father?"

"I suppose so," he says resignedly.

"There are worse things you could do," I say.

"We'll reserve these things as options once I'm officially trapped in the life I never wanted."

"You're going to have to stop that at some point," I say gently.

"Yes, but not tonight. Let me mourn the decision through the weekend."

"It's the right time for it."

He hugs me close to him again, relieved I guess, that I can understand.


	14. Family: Apidae

A/N Your reviews make me smile, thank you for them! I'm glad you seem to like this.

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><p>Eric and his father were able to behave as though they didn't repel each other for the duration of the funeral. Sten Northman was eulogized by his brother, and he did alright. I was grateful it wasn't Viktor. After his speech at dinner the night before, I didn't trust him anywhere near a pulpit. It was all very staid and subdued until the very end. It wasn't the whole megillah, with the parade and the parasols, but there was a small jazz band to play a jaunty rendition of "When the Saints go Marching In" for the recessional. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was stirred to tears. I caught Inge's reaction and she looked at first surprised and genuinely touched. I had brought one of Eric's handkerchiefs with me just in case, and I was glad to have it. I had barely known Sten, but I did know that he and his wife loved New Orleans. It felt like a very appropriate send off, or home-going, as we sometimes say in the South. Eric led Inge from the church and I heard her thank him as they passed me. I knew it must have been all to Pam's credit. This isn't something Ana would have arranged.<p>

What she had arranged for was the catered wake at the Northmans' home following the funeral. A lot of guests came to have something to eat and to pay their respects. Their maid Greta was more or less permanently seated in the front hall, hopping up and down to answer the door and take or retrieve coats. It struck me as more than a little strange. Yes she worked for them, but she lived here. She had probably known Sten a lot better than most of the people who came and went. Surely she was grieving too? At one point Eric was caught up speaking with a small group from the management company and I wandered over to ask her if she wanted a break or needed to check on anything. She assured me that she was fine keeping busy there. I found myself giving her a little pat on the shoulder, which she returned with a grateful smile. I figured I was right that she was in mourning as well. She seemed to be coping by simply staying on task, which was understandable.

As grandson and heir, some portion of Eric's attention was wanted by nearly all the guests. At intervals, I stayed by his side, being introduced (as his girlfriend) but not really being included in the conversations. I found myself wandering somewhat listlessly through the house and the garden patio, collecting any discarded dishes or glasses that the catering staff had missed, or chatting intermittently to the few people I knew, mostly family members from dinner the night before. I found Patti Parker and Mitzy Pirrie sitting at a small table which had been set up outside and I stopped to say hello.

"Hello Sookie," Patti said with a warm smile.

"Patti, Mitzy," I greeted. I was relieved to see friendly faces. I smiled in earnest, a nice departure from the muted and polite airs I'd been affecting for most of the afternoon. Patti invited me to join them and I took one of the two remaining seats.

"Poor Inge is just surrounded in there. We said our hellos," explained Patti. "I think she would prefer it if we would all leave her alone, but she seems to be holding up dutifully."

I nodded. She was spot on in that assessment as far as I could tell. "She's such a strong woman," I agreed.

"Yes, when my Norman passed on I wanted nothing but to be left in peace," agrees Mitzy. "But all society wishes to console the widow in times like these. And of course, we are no different," she said, as if to excuse her own presence at the wake.

"I think it is alright to show that you care without hovering," I say.

"Very true," agrees Patti. "I am sorry I did not get a chance to call you this week, Sookie. After I heard the news of course we came back down to be here. We will have to try again and hope that luck doesn't conspire against us."

"I'd like that very much," I agree politely.

"That was very nice how they did the band," Mitzy comments. "I did not think that wife of the son's would have had the consideration."

"I think it was Eric's assistant Pam who planned for that," I say. "She did a lot of the coordinating for the family this week."

"It's so funny how they've renamed secretaries isn't it?" says Patti. "All this executive administrative assistant to the whomsoever now," she continues, baffled.

"Oh," I say, a little amused by her old-fashioned point of view. "I think it's that her job entails more than just typing and answering phones."

"I suppose so. You practically need a Ph.D. to operate the phones now anyway. But speaking of jobs, Sookie, how are things going?" Patti asks. Ah. Yes, I suppose we might as well.

"Actually yes, speaking of," I say, turning toward Mitzy. "Mitzy, I didn't know when we'd run in to each other again, but I wanted to say in regards to Hestia..." I pause taking a quick breath and the moment to collect my thoughts. "I understand that you spoke to Doug Salva on my behalf." That's a polite way to say it, yes? "And while I certainly appreciate it, I had to turn them down. I wouldn't feel comfortable starting in a job under that circumstance."

"Oh, yes, I talked to Doug," agrees Mitzy. "We had been hoping to get you situated down here, but I suppose it's neither here nor there now."

I'm sure I look puzzled, but I continue, "I am grateful for the thought of course."

"Yes," Mitzy agrees, acknowledging my thanks. "The unfortunate circumstance makes it a moot point now though, since Eric will have to be returning to the city for work."

"I'm sorry?" I query, not following her.

"Oh, you'll forgive us old ladies our little scheme Sookie," Patti says hurriedly. She sounds cheeky and unrepentant as she admits, "We meant to help you get situated here so that Eric would be inclined to be in New Orleans more often to see you, and of course then Inge and Sten as well. But it's by the by now, sadly."

"That's..." I begin. I don't even know what that is. Outrageous? Reprobate? Crazy. Crazy is what I'd thought initially and clearly I'd been dead on. Patti is patting my hand with a little smile.

"We were just trying to help everyone out," Patti says.

"Yes," I acknowledge. "Well, as I said, I am not quite comfortable with that."

"I understand, dear," says Mitzy. "Have you taken another position yet?"

"Uh, not yet, no. I'm still waiting to hear from many of the places I have applied, but I may end up going back to the Parish schools, they can always use good teachers."

"That will be nice, then," she says, politely disinterested.

I think now would be an excellent time to go and check on Eric! I stand and excuse myself from the two women, and Patti assures me she will give me a call soon. She really sees nothing improper about the entire situation which just doesn't sit well with me right now, so I simply smile my goodbye, unable to tell her I'm looking forward to getting together. She's a nice old lady, but suddenly I've got a far greater inkling of what Eric has meant about the extents to which they will toy with people's lives in order to have their way. It might be well meaning, but it's flat out inappropriate.

I find Eric in the front parlour chatting stiffly to an older couple. He reaches out to take my hand as I approach and introduces me. This seems to effectively end whatever other conversation they've been discussing. After a few more pleasantries exchanged, wherein they remarked on the lovely food and the touching service, they excused themselves.

"You have wonderful timing," Eric says, leaning down to speak softly right next to my ear. "They were telling me about their daughter. We'd get along famously, you know," he smirks.

"I'll bring you to church with me some time so you can return the favour then," I say, thinking of the many grandsons in and around Bon Temps just waiting to strike up a courtship with me. Yup, church, funerals, the frozen foods aisle at the grocery store. For the determined matchmaker, nowhere is out of bounds.

He gives my hand a little squeeze at that, and I catch sight of someone we both know on approach and nod in that direction, so that Eric turns to look.

"Ah, Peter," Eric greets, taking his hand from mine to shake.

"Eric," Threadgill returns coolly. "And Miss Stackhouse, a pleasure to see you again," he says, a bit more kindly.

"Thank you so much for coming," Eric says automatically.

"I wished to pay my respects," Peter states. After a pause, "Will we be seeing you in our offices this week?"

"Yes, I should be back in it by Tuesday," Eric agrees.

"We understand perfectly of course. Will Sophie Ann be sending your replacement out this week, or will she be joining us herself?"

I see Eric's eyebrows rise slightly. "I'm afraid you'll still be dealing with me for the foreseeable future. I intend to see the merger through before leaving Area Five."

"Do you indeed? That certainly leaves you a full plate, doesn't it? Where is Pam, I didn't see her coming in."

"She's back in Seattle for the weekend. She'll be joining us on Tuesday as well," Eric says.

"Ah, interesting. And Miss Stackhouse, are you here for the week as well? Eric, you'll have to bring her to dinner again. I haven't enjoyed one of those insufferable social meals half so well as when she joined us." Peter says.

"I'm afraid Sookie is headed back north tomorrow," Eric answers for me. That's fine. He was mostly talking to Eric anyway. I simply nod my agreement and offer a regretful little smile.

"Ah, more's the pity then. I don't know what Jennifer and Pam have scheduled, but I'm sure it's something. Keep it friendly, you know," he offers Eric what was probably intended to be a rakish grin. "Ah, and here is David," he says, turning toward his son just stepping up beside him.

"Father, Eric," Peter greets them each with a nod. "Ah, and Sookie, yes?" he says to me.

"David, it's nice to see you again," I say. Not particularly, of course. Then I remember that I actually have something conversational I can say to him. "I understand we have a mutual friend," I offer, thinking of Tara.

"Do we?" he asks. That's odd. Amelia said he recognized my name.

"Tara Thornton?" I prompt. "She was in my sorority at school, with Amelia Broadway?"

"Ah, right, Tara," says David. "Yes, we've been out a few times," he says, to the men, as much as me.

Definitely peculiar. I guess she hasn't met his father, or hasn't met him as David's girlfriend anyway. They've probably met through work. Or maybe not, I don't really know how the corporate hierarchy works. Peter Threadgill may not take time to get to know random employees. That seems more likely, actually. Supposedly Tara and David are moving in together. David spares me a direct look for a fleeting moment. While I have no idea exactly what he was trying to convey, I take from it that he'd prefer to drop the subject, so I do.

"It's quite a network these girls have. I can't say I've kept up with nearly as many from my school days," says Eric. I wonder if he's kept up with any. The conversation shifts then back to the three men's work and I'm relegated to nodding politely as they effectively talk over my head. Not long later, we're interrupted by Viktor.

"Eric, your grandmother has gone upstairs to rest after her trying day. Do you believe you will be much longer conducting business? There are a number of guests you have yet to greet," his father said. It made me bristle. I wouldn't call the conversation 'conducting business', even if they were speaking on the subject of their work. I certainly didn't like Viktor scolding Eric like a naughty child, let alone in front of Peter Threadgill.

"Of course," Eric says coolly, after a pause. "Peter, David, if you'll excuse us. I'll see you next week." Eric takes my hand and leads me through to another room. As we move, Eric takes the time to give nods of greeting and the stiff little smiles expected at such an occasion as this. While not rushing to the point of being obvious, we work out way fairly swiftly to the kitchen.

"Have you eaten?" he asks.

"Here and there," I answer. I'd been picking at various trays all afternoon, but it was a cracker here or there. I could happily eat.

"Would you please fix a couple of plates for us?" he asks to one of the catering staff, speaking over my head. He sits himself down on a stool at the counter, and rests his legs on the bottom run of a second, nudging it out for me. I sit, having to hop up a bit to gain purchase. I find myself watching him intently. He seems incredibly comfortable in this space, which is very much at odds with how he has been in the rest of the house, and especially odd right at this moment, given the exchange with his father. There were several of the staff in the kitchen when we entered, milling around and tending to food or to the dishwasher or garbage, but they seemed to evaporate within moments of our sitting down. Only one older woman remained, and she was taking care of making plates up for us out of the large trays left warm in either of two ovens. I watched him stretch his ridiculously long body across the counter and fish two dinner rolls out of a basket I would have had to get up and walk to.

"Do you want one?" he asks. I nod with a faint smile.

"Now where is Greta to warn you off spoiling your dinner?" I ask, as he devours his first roll in one whole bite. He gulps it down with a grin.

"No, Greta is new. She's only been here for six or seven years now."

"Oh yes? You hardly notice. She already seems to know where everything is," I deadpan.

"What do you mean?" he asks, then he catches up to my sarcasm. "Oh, I see. No, I suppose she's not new in that sense. Before Greta though, there was Mrs. Becker. They had Mrs. Becker since they bought this house. She was the one with the son my age."

"So it is Mrs. Becker who would be here scolding you to put your elbows off the counter and your feet on the floor?" I grin. I hear the soft clatter as he instinctively drops his feet.

"...Yes," he admits, looking sheepish.

We were each served large plates of salad and pasta and vegetables and fish by the kindly looking woman who seemed content to remain and wait on us. Normally this would probably make me feel a bit strange, but given the catering service was hired just for the day, I tried to accept it as normal.

"Thank you..." I say, in that prompting way that asks someone how they wish to be addressed.

"Jeanie," she supplies with a smile.

"Thank you Jeanie," Eric echoes, and takes a huge bite of some kind of julienne carrots and zucchini dish and makes a little good food moan.

"So Mrs. Becker didn't mind you in her kitchen?"

"No, she was always very nice. For your information she often _let_ me spoil my dinner."

"How very remiss of her."

"Not really. In the summers she just used to let me be on vacation."

"Is she still in town?" I ask.

"No, she lives in Montana now, with her daughter and her daughter's husband. He's some kind of lumberjack or something."

"Really?"

"No, not really. He is a ranger at Glacier National Park. Her daughter works in one of the hotels up there, or lodges, whatever they have."

"That sounds really nice," I enthuse. It really does. I don't know if I could stand the cold, but it must be amazing to be surrounded by all that natural wilderness and splendour all the time. Not that Louisiana is ugly, but we certainly don't have snow-capped mountains on the horizon.

"They are a bit 'granola', if you take my meaning. Nice people though. Mrs. Becker loves it up there, though she complains of the cold in a good-natured kind of way," he says. I smile. I like Mrs. Becker already. Eric doesn't seem to have an abundance of kind words for anyone he knew growing up, so I'm already more or less convinced she is terrific.

"You're still in touch with her then?"

"A bit. She sends me Christmas cards with those little letters telling what has happened in her family for the year. I send things for her birthday and Christmas. She called the house on Tuesday, Fahma talked to her a bit."

"That's sweet."

"Yeah," he agrees.

"So how did that work, did she live here like Greta does? With her children?"

"Mm, sort of. They lived in the carriage house. Mr. Becker was the outdoor man. Uh. Gardener, I guess. Greta lives in here though. Back through there," he says, pointing toward an unobtrusive hallway on the far side of the kitchen.

"They don't keep a gardener anymore?" I ask, not really sure where else to go in this weird little upstairs/downstairs conversation. I'd only met Greta, and I didn't even know her last name. I just try to go along, as though practically everyone grew up with a family of live-in servants, so he doesn't feel weird about it, or so I don't feel weirder about it, or something.

"I'm sure they have a service for the lawn and such. Fahma does a lot in the garden now as you know. No, after Mr. Becker died, they just didn't replace him. And then after Mrs. Becker retired, Grandfather took over the carriage house."

"What, he was living out there?"

"No, just as his place to be and go. Like a man cave, I guess."

I let out a peal of laughter at the idea of Sten Northman having a man cave. That's what my brother started calling his den after he got the big television. He'd taken the old mini-fridge I had gotten way back when for my first dorm room and put it in there, so he wouldn't have as far to walk for a fresh beer or soda. He'd fitted it with a big comfy sectional couch with seats on each end that reclined. I tell him about Jason's setup and he chuckles, trying to picture his grandfather making a similar place for himself. He tells me that it's more in the order of a semi-home office, though there is a comfortable sofa in his library.

I was happy to listen to Eric do a bit more reminiscing about his summers spent in this house. It seemed like appropriate conversation for the day, even if the focus wasn't all on his grandfather. In fact, very little of it was. I wanted to tell him about Mitzy and Patti and Inge and Hestia, and I wanted to ask what he made of the way David talked about Tara, or rather wouldn't talk about her, but I didn't interrupt him. I came to realize as he talked that most of Eric's childhood had been spent away at school, actual boarding school, with his summers and vacations split up between here, his other grandmother's house. No wonder he wasn't close to his family. It seemed like he had barely seen them his whole life. I had to tamp down on my inclination to pity the poor little rich boy. He sure wouldn't thank me for it.

Jeanie was handy with the second helpings and brought the basket of bread rolls closer so he wouldn't have to reach for them. We spent maybe half an hour, and it was the most relaxed I'd seen him all day, including that morning before we were even out of bed. Too quickly though, we were finished eating and the cold pall settled back over his face.

"I don't think this is going to go on much longer," he says, standing in front of me as though to spot me as I scoot off my high stool to stand up. "I figure my father and his wife will be off soon, if they haven't gone already. Some of the family is staying here, but I think it falls to me to make sure everything wraps up, and I've been hiding out long enough."

"Alright," I say.

As we left the kitchen, Eric took a moment to let Jeanie know not to send any more food out, and to shift towards cleaning and closing up. Viktor and Ana were not to be found, so it seemed they had indeed excused themselves and returned to the hotel, or else gone out dancing, or whatever tactless thing they were up to. Gather up stray kittens into a sack to throw in Lake Ponchartrain maybe. It was another couple of hours before the day wound down so that only family and Greta remained at the house. Eric had tipped the caterers, and the valet service. The latter had been a practical choice, not a show of opulence. The Northmans' driveway just wasn't large enough to accommodate all the cars, and many of the visitors had been elderly, so the service had taken care finding spaces around the block.

Inge had come down once everyone else was gone. She looked as though she had gotten a couple of hours of rest, and was wearing a powder blue sweat suit. It was an odd look for her. She and Greta were packing up the food when we left. They planned to take most of it back to the church, which also ran a shelter. Inge set aside a couple of choice things that her friends had brought, but most of it was going. She didn't want to keep it in the house, and I couldn't blame her. After Gran's funeral, I threw out more taco salad and peas casserole than I care to remember. It was nice that Inge and Greta had somewhere to donate. Eric and I said goodnight. It wasn't particularly late in the evening but it had been a long day. We'd be doing it all again for brunch in the morning. When Eric hugged his grandmother she clung to him for a long time before letting him go. She thanked me as well, which was kind of her.

It was a quiet night for us back at the hotel. Despite Eric's avowal that we'd be working out the day's frustrations with passionate sex, we were both of us just exhausted, mentally and physically. I fall asleep in a bathrobe on top of the bed. I find the book I'd been reading was on the nightstand next to me when I wake up. Eric is curled up next to me with a blanket slung over us both. He's snoring lightly so I shirk the robe and snuggle back against him. It occurs to me that I will miss him when I leave this afternoon. I try to put the thought aside. I wasn't laying there for long before I felt him stir and nuzzle into my neck. I let out a contented sigh and let my hands wander. It had become apparent that as a general rule, Eric did not wear clothes to sleep. I found it _convenient_.

Brunch consisted of the same large group of Eric's family. We didn't have a private room today, just a single large, long table stretched out along the side of the dining room. It was a buffet style service, so the waiters were really only needed for drinks. Eric's grandmother was at the head of the table and his father was at the foot. I didn't bother waiting in the line where people were queued up for fresh waffles and omelettes. I got a plate piled with fruit which I set in front of me to share with Eric and those sitting around us, and helped myself to some biscuits and sausage gravy. It wasn't as good as homemade of course. The setting reminded me a little bit of the big church breakfasts we used to have a couple of times a year.

Eric must have done his 'I'll take the check' manoeuvre again. I'd missed it. When the server brought the bill to him however, Inge reached right across and took it while he was reaching for his billfold. I smirked as he started to object and she treated him to the high eyebrow. He secured his wallet back in his pocket and held up his hands briefly in a show of surrender. The saying goodbyes took some time. Eric was treated to handshakes and hugs from his great uncles, aunts, and cousins. Most were departing today to return to their homes, wherever their homes were.

"Eric, my office will be calling this week," Viktor called out over the heads of many family members, before he left through the doors of the restaurant. I felt his grip tighten around my hand, crushing my knuckles together to the point where I had to reach over and pinch his arm so he would realize he was hurting me. He instantly released me.

"Fahma," he said, leaning down toward Inge. "At some point soon we need to get together to discuss business matters."

"Eric, you know my wishes," I hear her say wearily.

"I do, but there are still some things that you need to be aware of. It would be best if your lawyer were present, as well."

"Must we? Couldn't you just come for dinner on Wednesday night? You could bring Sookie," she says.

"Sookie is going home this afternoon, Fahma, but yes, if you prefer, we can do it over dinner. If you would not mind entertaining Cataliades as well," he finishes.

She gives a little sigh and nods her head at him. It's so painfully obvious to me that all she really wants is his company. I have to bite down hard on the impulse to nudge him.

"I'll have Pam arrange it then," he finishes. He leans down and gives her a perfunctory peck on the cheek, and says a final goodbye to everyone, and then, we were off.

I caught myself literally biting my tongue in the car as I stared out the window while he sped through the city back to the hotel. We hadn't said much of anything. We were both lost in thoughts. We were back in the room, and he was sprawled on the bed watching as I moved back and forth between the bathroom and the closet and the little luggage stand, gathering up my things.

"What are you thinking?" he asks. I paused in my scurrying.

"Honestly? Because you won't like it," I warn him. He gestures me to continue so I do. "I'm thinking about your family. The entire situation just makes me sad."

"Ah," he says, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. "I was thinking that I did not wish for you to leave."

I came and sat on the edge of the bed, to look at him, since he was deliberately no longer looking at me.

"I'm going to miss you, but I'll see you soon I'm sure."

"I have to go back to Seattle after this week."

"But you'll be here even more now, yes?"

"As much as required, which will be a bit more, yes," he says with a heavy sigh. I curled up next to him and pulled his arm free, laying my head on his shoulder with my hand on his chest. "I don't understand why you can't just stay," he says, nuzzling into my hair.

"Because I have to go home," I say, feeling the same melancholy.

"To your farmhouse, but why?" I pulled away to look at him as he continues, "I mean I know you have things there to keep you busy, but you're not really working, and you could not work from here just as well. And then you'd be here already when schools call you for interviews," he says, explaining.

I frown. "I'm still subbing a few days a week. I had to turn them down on Friday, and I don't want them thinking I am unreliable. And the things I'm doing at the house are things that need doing. It's not just busy work."

"But it's not exactly pressing," he argues.

"Eric, it's my house," I say.

"I know that, but you could take care of it any time. Why not next week?"

"Because," I say, biting my lip. It's not that I don't want to be here with him, but that's not what he's proposing. He's going back to work this week. Even if I did stay, I'd only see him late in the evenings. My time actually with him would be minimal. "You're going back to your life tomorrow, and, so, so am I," I finish.

"Fine," he sighs, throwing his head back into the pillows again.

"Um, fine, then," I say, getting off the bed. Retreating back to my suitcase on the other side of the room I throw out, "You should be nicer to your grandmother. All she wants is to spend time with you, and not just for business and the funeral," because I've been not saying that for about an hour, and now, I'm annoyed.

"Fuck, Sookie, seriously? You're going to nag me about my family?"

I don't say anything, because he's cursing at me, and this is about to turn into a fight, if it hasn't already.

"First you tell me I'm not going to see you for two or three weeks," he continues. "Then you have to bring this up right now, of all moments?"

"I'm saying it now because I've wanted to say it all weekend. Maybe because I don't want to go home and get another call about a fake job that your grandmother's friends have orchestrated as some convoluted way of baiting _you_ into her proximity. Maybe because I miss my grandmother every day and watching you ignore yours makes my heart ache. Maybe because I am just annoyed at the way you completely disregarded my life right then, and watching you disregard every part of yours that isn't work-related as well disturbs me greatly." Yup, that about sums it up.

He doesn't say anything or move, so I just finish putting my things together and bring my suitcase and my garment bag and purse out to the hall. I pull my cell phone charger from the wall and hastily bundle it into the front pocket of my bag. His continued silence serves only the ratchet up my level of irritation. Suddenly it seems, I'm all packed and ready.

"I'm all packed," I say, standing in the doorway. Nothing. I move over near the bed again. I stand there, torn, and it occurs to me right at this moment that maybe I just blew it, and he won't _want_ to see me again in two weeks or three weeks or any amount of weeks. So I stand there with my arms wrapped around myself, three feet away from Eric, staring at the wall like it has answers.

It offers me no more than Eric does though and finally I breathe out a sigh and turn to leave the room, and in a flash he's leapt up and pulled me into him in a tight hug.

"Don't go like this," he says. I let my arms come up around him.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," I say. I hadn't actually yelled, but it was really only a question of volume. The sentiment was the same.

"I'm sorry I am selfish and disregarding," he says.

"You're not," I tell him, pulling away so he can see me shake my head and understand that I don't really think he's like that in general. "Just..."

"It's fine," he assures me. I hope he only means that he's not upset with me. "Do you have to leave this minute?" he asks. I shake my head again, and he leans down and kisses me, then slowly pushes me back to the bed. It was two hours later when I finally left him, and he walked me down to the Rabbit in the parking garage and gave me the mother of all goodbye kisses. He looked a little glum as he waved me off, after I promised to call him when I got in.

Once I reached the highway, I called Lafayette. I told him all about the sad and hectic week, up to and including the little mini-fight Eric and I had had that afternoon, before the marathon I'm-not-going-to-see-you-for-a-while sex.

"Hmmm," he says ponderingly, once I'd finished.

"Hmm?" I query back.

"Well Miss Sookie, I ain't no doctor yet, but I'm afraid I'll still have to diagnose you with a serious case of _sprung_," he tells me. I chuckle. "Course, it seems we'll be sufferin' together."

"Oh yes? Has Mister 'boyfriend-material' become a material boyfriend?" I ask.

"You could say that. He's laying right here," I hear him grin.

"Oh my God!" I exclaim, going full high and girly. "Laf why didn't you tell me, I'm so sorry to interrupt. Hi Boyfriend Material!" I call out, hopefully loud enough that he can hear me through the phone. I hear them both laughing.

"You didn't tell her my name?" I hear someone asking playfully.

"_Rasul_ says hello, Sookie," Lafayette tells me. He lingers over the consonants. Rahsssssoollll.

"Well hi back at you Rasul," I say, my smile evident in my tone.

"So are we going to be meeting this Mister Man come the summer?" Lafayette asks me.

"If all goes well," I grin. "Is that the royal 'we' or the you and Rahssssoooolll 'we'?" I ask.

"If all goes well," he answers coyly.

"Aw, I'm so happy. Everyone is happy." I sigh my contentedness.

"Mmhmm," he agrees. "Are we all happy then? How are things with the job and the legal stuff going?"

I feel myself slump. "They're going I guess. Or not going. No news is good news I guess, on the legal side. And the job, oh my God, I have to tell you. You're going to say 'crazy white ladies'."

"Crazy rich bitches," is what he actually said, once I finished telling him about Inge, Mitzy Pirrie, and Hestia Academy.

"But isn't it just kind of sad though?" I insist. "I mean she just wants contact with him and he acts like he's shunning her."

"You need to stay out of it, Sook," he warns.

"But it's not right," I whine.

"Not e'erbody's grammy is a Miss Adele, Sookie," he says back. "I ain't seen mine since she called us a faggot, as you well know." I did know that. Lafayette came out to his family when we were still in college, and his mother and grandmother had condemned him to hell, effectively disowning him. It still made me furious how anyone could dare call themselves a Christian and behave so un-Christ-like. It had a lot to do with his decision to move across the country for graduate school. He still talked to his aunt and his uncle, that's where he stayed when he was home, but he wasn't welcome at family gatherings. He'd been spending Thanksgivings with us for almost as long as Amelia. Most Christmases, too.

"She's not _like that_," I say quietly, thinking that whatever her faults, Inge would never disown a child or grandchild. Heck, Viktor was proof positive of that, cause if anyone deserved it...no. I stopped myself right in the middle of the thought. Nobody deserved that. "She might be sneaky, but it's out of love, not hate," I finish.

"Well I don't know the woman, but it sounds like nothing I'd get involved in," he says.

"Seems to some extent I'm not getting a say about being involved though," I reply.

We chatted a bit more about his graduate work and the interviews that I'd been on, and then about Amelia, who had apparently called him three times over the weekend, to complain about the time she was spending with her father. I felt compelled to apologize to Lafayette again for further interrupting his time with Rasul. He assured me that Rasul would simply have to accept his lady friends if they were going to work out. I heard Rasul chuckle again when he said that. We'd been gabbing for almost forty minutes in total before he finally admitted that he had to finish grading undergrad papers for tomorrow. We agreed to speak later in the week, and of course I agreed to call in the interim if anything came up regarding the Bill thing or a job.

I hung up and drove for a while longer, making my usual stop for gas and a pick-me-up snack. Jason called and asked me if I was home yet, and could I come for dinner. I didn't think I'd be home before nine, but Jason insisted that I stop by his house, because he had news. I smiled, figuring it was about the baby, and I tried to press him to tell me, but he wouldn't budge. I agreed to stop by on my way home, but warned that he'd have to take me as I was. That being, rumpled from the car ride and Eric's and my fond farewell. I would have really liked to stop home and shower before going over there, but it would be getting way too late.

It was a few minutes after eight thirty when I pulled into Jason's driveway. I must have been channelling Eric on the home-stretch of my drive. I made great time! I texted my favourite reckless driver to let him know I was safely back in Bon Temps but not quite home, as I'd stopped in at my brother's house. There were a couple of extra trucks in the driveway and I heard some music playing out back on the porch so I just went ahead and let myself in through the front door and walked out back.

"Sook!" cried Jason at my appearance, jumping up to give me a huge hug.

"Hey brother," I greeted, hugging back. "Hi Crystal!" I say over his shoulder, waving over to her where she was seated in one of the chairs. His buddy Hoyt was there with his girlfriend Holly, and another friend who Jason introduced as Rene, from the road crew.

Jason pulled Crystal to her feet and took her hand in his. "Sookie, Crystal and I are having a baby, and we're getting' married," he said proudly, lifting her hand to show off a small diamond ring that still managed to glint in the dim light which flooded in from the kitchen windows and the crackling fire going in the iron pit that seemed to be my brother's latest addition to the décor out here.

I beamed, stepping forward to hug Crystal. "That's just wonderful," I say, meaning it. Maybe it's not the conventional order of things, but hey, that's life. My brother looked thrilled, and Crystal glowing. Jason was grinning like he'd won a prize, and I guess he had. I gladly took a beer and settled down to hear the story of the proposal. Jason had been trying to get her to come shopping with him for his planned purchase of a hot tub and she'd started getting so worried about him spending so much money that she blurted out about the baby. He had dropped to his knees right then and there in the living room and asked her to marry him, and they'd gone ring-shopping instead of hot tub shopping. The most romantic love story ever told? No, it certainly wasn't, but it was simple and honest, and they were thrilled, and I was thrilled for them.

"Sookie, you have to be one of my bridesmaids," she said, and of course I agreed. Naturally they weren't planning for a long engagement. Crystal wanted to be married before she got too fat for the pictures, she said. I smiled at that. She didn't have the figure where you could hide it for a couple extra months. It was going to show early. Holly would be joining me for bridesmaid duty and Hoyt was slated to be the Best Man. Before we left that night, Crystal gave both Holly and I the phone number of her cousin, who'd happily agreed that morning to serve as her Maid of Honour. I'd give her a call tomorrow. I guess I'd have another project to help fill up my not-exactly-working time.

I didn't stay for long, and was back at my house by ten. I drew a bath before bed and called Eric as I was settling in to it to tell him happy news.

"Are you in the bath?" he asks. He must have heard the water splash.

"Yes," I sigh, luxuriating.

"You're killing me," he says, jokingly.

"I'm not sorry," I tell him. "This is wonderful. It could only be improved by your presence and a larger tub."

"Mm," he says. "Tell me more about that."

I laugh. I am not having phone sex with Eric. Well, not tonight anyway. I don't want to close that door entirely. It could be a long two or three weeks! So instead I say, "Well, I think I'll want to put one of those whirlpool tubs in here, eventually," so he understands that we're not going there right now.

"That'll be nice," he says. "Maybe mount the shower higher, so if I visit again, I won't have to crouch to wash my hair."

I laugh. "Well, I don't know if it'll be in time for hopefully your next visit," I tell him. "Jason manned up after all. Crystal told him about the baby and he proposed, so they are getting married in about two months. Crystal made a point of telling me that _my boyfriend_ was invited."

"That was nice of her," he says, noncommittally.

"It was," I agree. "Hopefully you can come?"

"I'd like that. Let me know when it is so I can tell Pam, or you could tell her."

"Oh, I think you better tell her. She might get snippy with me if she finds out we're more than 'diddling' as she called it."

"She won't," he says.

"Is that a conversation you've had with her?" I ask.

"Yes," he says. "But not willingly. She expressed some further concern on your behalf, and I explained my honourable intentions." I smiled. Aww, Pammy.

"I'm sure that wasn't awkward at all," I guess. I may or may not be sarcastic as I say it. Really, I don't know if it would have been.

"Not as awkward as another day of me getting her full bitch would have been. She seems sweetly protective of you," he observes.

"I like her too," I say.

"Good then, always nice when the women in my world get along," he says, then after a pause. "Well, I should get some sleep, and leave you to lie there naked in the bath, thinking of me."

I feel myself flush even beyond the heat of the water as he says that. I don't know why I'd be embarrassed, but it's just instinctive.

"Are you blushing?" he asks. How is it he always knows?

"Yes," I say.

I can hear him grinning, "Good night, Sookie."

"Goodnight Eric," I reply, a little breathily. I did fall asleep that night thinking of Eric.

The following morning I was sipping my coffee in the kitchen when my phone rang. It was Maryelizabeth Norris, Crystal's cousin, calling me to say hello and set up a lunch date for us this week. She was clearly taking this Maid of Honour thing very seriously, I thought, checking the clock to confirm that it was barely nine in the morning. I was getting another call so I quickly agreed to call her back as soon as I knew what my week looked like. The other call was Mrs. Park, urgently asking if I could come in to cover classes for a teacher who had come in that morning but gone home suddenly with a violent stomach bug. That sounded horrible, and I agreed quickly before I got any details specific to the illness or the exodus, because, gross.

I was glad I'd taken time to blow out my hair the night before. I quickly dressed and went up to the high school. I stopped in at the office and was directed to one of the upstairs classrooms. Apparently it was one of the Social Studies teachers who'd gone out. The principal was up there with the class, there being no one else to watch the students. She was waiting out in the hall when I arrived and looked thoroughly grateful to see me.

"Unfortunately, Mister Roberts didn't have time to leave a lesson plan for the day, so it would be fine if you just conducted free-study periods, or you can ask the students if there is anything they would like to work on. I'll be back to check on you after next period, I'm sorry, but we just had no one else to cover. I need to get back downstairs, I have a parents' meeting and then the school board after lunch. Sookie, you're a lifesaver," she burbled out, and then before I'd fully registered her speech she seemed to be halfway down the hall.

I opened the door to the classroom to find what for a classroom constitutes pandemonium. Students were out of their desks. A pair were playing with a hacky sack in the corner. Some of the girls had makeup out, and practically all of them had their cell phones. There was a half-hearted chorus of "Hi Miss Stackhouses," from some of the students I'd met before as I enter and cross to the teacher's desk.

"Good morning, back to seats, please," I call out over the din. About half class seems to settle down, but there are a few who are determined in their free-play. I set my bag down and headed back to the hacky sack players, snatching it from the air mid-volley, and gesturing them back to their desks.

"You can pick that up after class," I say, placing it down on the desk. I turned to write my name on the board for those students who didn't know it, calling over my shoulder, "And that goes for any cell phones I see when I turn around, except those, you will pick up after the school day." I then took elaborate care writing and underlining, giving everyone time to get situated. I peaked over my shoulder to check the class and they were all settled down once again. I smiled.

"Alright then, have we called attendance?"

I was met with a negative so I called the role. After that I asked what they were studying, and it turned out to be the Civil War, which, as luck would have it, my gran had had a particular interest in. This got some laughs when I explained it to the class. It's a not too uncommon interest among the older generations down here. Gran had certainly been a history buff above the common way, but as far as I knew the Descendants of the Glorious Dead group was still going strong in town with their weekly meetings and summer excursions to Southern battlefields. So we spent the remainder of class discussing various aspects of the war and their studies which was interesting. It wasn't exactly teaching, but it was a matter of engaging them on the subject material. It worked well. I decided to go ahead and run the rest of the day like that.

When the period bell rang, I returned the hacky sack (though he called it a footbag), warning the student to keep it put away until lunchtime. I found I felt comfortable, and ran through the rest of the lessons as smoothly as I had the first, though there wasn't as much need to interfere or ask the students to settle down. The principal came by a couple of periods later. I saw her through the little window next to the door and I gave her an a-ok sign and a bright smile and she flashed me a thumbs up and was gone again.

I was mildly amused that by the end of the day, some of the students began to anticipate the discussion sessions I was running. While in the earlier periods, it had been mostly me talking to get the conversations going, later in the day the students seemed to come with questions or topics to talk about. It's funny how the flow of information works throughout the day in a school. The students who came in the afternoon all knew about what had befallen poor Mr. Roberts, as well as how I was running the substitute classes. It was like watching the effects of a real-time game of telephone in the microcosm that is the modern high school.

I turned on my phone after the last bell had rung and I'd cleared up the desk, locked the attendance book and the chalk inside, and wiped down the blackboard. It's also my habit to check the erasers. Sometimes pranksters are terribly amused by sandwiching chalk inside the felt tabs so a teacher makes a big mess when she goes to erase some notes halfway through a lecture. Hilarious. Yes, I'm speaking from experience. It had happened to me my second day student-teaching. I had a couple of voice mails but no text messages. I always find this a relief when I've missed calls, because I figure if it is a real emergency, people will also text. I was calling back my voicemail when a couple of late students walked by.

"No cell phones in class Miss Stackhouse!" I heard one hoot from outside as he continued walking down the hall. Har, har. Class is over, Michael Stanley.

My first call was from Desmond Cataliades asking me to return his call at my earliest convenience, regarding my civil dispute with William Compton. The second was from St. Francis School for Boys, asking if I were still seeking employment for the upcoming school year, and asking me to return their call to schedule an interview. I went ahead and did so, for a week from Wednesday. Mr. Cataliades, I would call from home. I walked through the classroom straightening the desks and moved the garbage can from beside the desk to over by the door. This is just my habit, just like wiping down the blackboard. I am aware that the janitor needs to come in anyway, but if there's a little bit I can do to show some consideration, I will do it. I'd always done so when I had my own classroom, and by sheer coincidence, my board was never forgotten in the washing and my bins were always emptied with fresh liners every day. Common courtesy goes a long way, wherever you are.

I dropped off Mr. Roberts' keys at the front office and Mrs. Park said she'd call me tonight to let me know if they'd need me tomorrow. Apparently Mr. Roberts had a nasty case of food poisoning but it was unclear if he'd be up for work tomorrow. I nodded, making the appropriate concerned frown. I drove home and picked up my mail on the way in. I could also see a large box on my front porch so I pulled up there to investigate. I could see that it was from a florist, and it was heavy. I carefully shifted the box into the house and then just pushed it across the floor into the kitchen. Opening it, I found a vase packed around with Styrofoam, and an absolutely enormous bouquet of roses in dark and light pink, lavender, and off white, along with a few pink peonies. It was beautiful. I'd never received anything like it. I carefully filled the large vase with water and one of the little packets of flower food that came with it. The note card was printed and taped to the inside of the box. "Miss you already. -E" I melted. I was going to text, but instead I called.

"Hi," I said when he answered.

"Hey," he said. "Did you get the flowers?"

"Eric, they're beautiful," I said.

"Good, they do you justice then."

I smiled. "Thank you." I say, for the flowers, and the compliment. "Are you busy right now?" I ask.

"I'm between things. Did they just arrive? They told me they would be there by noon."

"I just got home, I got called in to school this morning."

"Ah, good that you were up there then," he says, a little regretfully.

"They're really lovely Eric, I have no idea where to put them."

"I thought the little table in your bedroom," he offers.

"Oh, that's perfect," I agree.

"Listen, much as I would like to chat, can I call you tonight? I'll be done around eight or nine."

"Of course, I'm sorry, I just wanted to call."

"I'm glad you did, I'll talk to you later then. Goodbye Sookie."

"Bye," I say.

I gave a happy little sigh and continued putting my bouquet in order. There had to be three dozen roses, and then the peonies and the greenery. Even though the card was printed and not written out by him, I kept it and tucked it in to my correspondence drawer. I'd move the flowers into the bedroom later tonight. I wanted to enjoy them while I was out in the kitchen. I was about to settle down to getting something together for dinner when I remembered that I needed to call my (borrowed) lawyer back.

"This is Sookie Stackhouse returning a call from Mister Cataliades," I announced to the receptionist who answered.

"One moment Ms. Stackhouse, I'll see if he's available," she replied. While I waited I futzed with my flowers some more, making sure they were 'just so'.

"Miss Stackhouse?" came the lawyer's voice.

"Good afternoon Mister Cataliades, I'm sorry I missed your call earlier, I was teaching today," I say.

"Not at all," he dismisses, with his usual politeness. "I called because I've had word from William Compton's attorney, Simon Maimonides. Essentially it is the same as the initial offer, but with addition of the full cost of your medical bills. That is, in addition to his initial offer of ten thousand plus the contents of what he has listed here as your joint savings account. My office has also taken delivery of a small box of personal effects of yours that were left behind at the time you removed yourself from Mister Compton's Seattle residence. I can send them over by courier tomorrow if you like."

I had no idea what I could have left there, I thought I'd been pretty thorough, well, right up until Laf and I had found that little surprise. "Alright," I agree. "Please do send the box over."

"Now, as far as what they are asking for. It is the signed affidavit from you stating that you do not believe that Mister Compton intended to do you physical harm. Along with that, they are requesting that you lift the protective order, only because they feel it will support their case for having the charges against him dismissed. I have checked over the verbiage of the statement they request that you sign. I had a few changes made that I feel better preserve your dignity. I will also suggest that Mister Compton be asked to sign a reciprocal document yielding his right to sue you for slander or defamation over the incident. And then of course, you will be agreeing not to sue him civilly, in turn."

"If I'm following you correctly, that all seems to make sense," I sigh. "What do you mean about the verbiage?"

"I found some of the initial phrasing objectionable. The changes I made were to bring the statement in line with the one that you gave the police - rather than one that insinuated a more emotionally disturbed state following your break-up with Mister Compton. I assure you, I would not advise you to sign anything that could in any way be used to paint you in a negative light in the future."

"Can the courier bring the documents for me to review tomorrow as well?"

"Certainly," he agrees. "But if you do decide to sign them, that must happen here, so that your signature can be witnessed and notorized."

"I'll be in town again, not this Wednesday, but the following?"

"Ah, very good then. I will look forward to hearing what you decide in the next few days."

"Thank you again, Mister Cataliades."

"Of course Miss Stackhouse, good afternoon."

"Good afternoon."

We disconnected. I fixed my dinner and read for a little while as I ate. Mrs. Park called back and let me know that Mr. Roberts was anticipating being in the following day, and that was good, since I realized that I'd thoughtlessly agreed to receive the courier here tomorrow. What a miserable trip that would be, up and back to New Orleans in one day. I decided to make a big lunch so I could send something back with the poor guy, or gal, and called to invite Jason to stop by from work.


	15. Milk and Honey

A/N: Extra long note today... So, I sat down to write tonight after a not great day, and here I was thinking, maybe this is silly, no one is even reading this, also wtf am I going to do with this Bill business? And then I got an alert that said, 'Oh, this story was recommended to me on a blog! I like it,' and that was just timely and lovely. I'm looking at you, Northwoman and gobiascoffee, and really, everyone who's taken the time to review. I do not reply to all of them, as peppermintyrose noted, it quickly becomes a back and forth of thank you, no, thank _you, _so I tend to keep it to ones that ask questions or make observations that I feel could use a response - but I do genuinely appreciate each of them. I hope that doesn't come across as pandering, just an honest and general _no, thank YOU._

As another aside, a couple of people have mentioned kindly that the synopsis for this story is not terrific. If anyone's got some keen summarizing talents, please feel free to PM me!

The Konami Code is a video game cheat. Okay, on with it!

* * *

><p>I kept myself busy on Tuesday morning by cooking a roast with potatoes and by planting my vegetable seeds in their little plastic trays. It was probably too late in the year already for me to expect much, but we'll see. When Jason arrived for lunch, I served us up hot roast beef sandwiches with horseradish and he ate until he was full, letting me know that I needed to share my recipe with Crystal. She would need to add it to her wifely repertoire, he joked. Actually, I was fairly certain he was serious, but I was equally certain that her momma would have taught her how to cook a roast. It's not like it was exactly difficult, and of course the horseradish covers the multitude of sins. The knock on the front door came a bit after two, and a young woman in a wild outfit was standing on my front porch with clipboard and a manila envelope propped up on a small box. She reminded me a little of a bike messenger, with that athletic, punky look about her.<p>

"Hi, are you the courier from Mister Cataliades' office?" I ask as I answer the door. Who else would she be Sookie, really?

"Yes ma'am, Diantha," she offers, introducing herself. "Are you Sookie Stackhouse?"

"I am," I nod.

"Cute name. Sign here please," she says, offering me a clipboard, and pointing to a line halfway down the page.

I took and I signed. "Did you drive up from New Orleans this morning?" I asked her as I handed her clipboard back. She handed me the box and the envelope.

"Yeah. Gotta head back now. Do you know anywhere good to eat around here?"

I smiled, and I told her to wait right there, and then I went and got the little sack lunch I'd packed up for her. I explained that I hadn't known who was coming but I figured they would be hungry. She took the bag but stared at me, puzzled, as I chattered on at her. Finally she shrugged her thanks at me and left. Odd little girl.

After she left I glared at the box. It had been shipped from Arkansas, and was addressed to me, care of Desmond Cataliades, at his office address. I carried it to the kitchen table and while I tried to concern myself with the envelope first. I didn't really get further than pulling the sheaf of papers from it before I was fumbling around in the all-purpose drawer looking for the scissors. The box contained a folded letter, a further envelope, and the engagement ring box that I had last seen in Bill's safe. I opened it, briefly. Yup. The ring was in there.

I read the letter. It had been written on the day Sten Northman died.

_April 30, 2012_

_Dear Sookie,_

_After speaking with my attorney, we have decided that it is in the best interests of all that we make strides toward achieving an amicable conclusion regarding the unfortunate accident which occurred on March 23. As such, the attorney representing you has been presented with a formal settlement offer, precluding your use of further litigation. The details of this will doubtless be conveyed to you by him. I admit my surprise that you have retained counsel._

_Enclosed, please find the ring I had one day hoped to present you, as well as the gift I would have made you on our marriage. Since I have no intention of suffering the indignation of returning an engagement ring, it is yours. The gift was to be the property adjacent to your family home in Bon Temps, including the plantation home and approximately sixty acres of surrounding woodland. This was purchased in your name prior to our move to Seattle. It had been my hope to renovate the property to serve as the proper country estate that you desired. Since you are the legal owner, I am left with no choice but to present you with the deed._

_There is little to say regarding the end of our personal relationship. Having known you for these past three years as one of the increasingly rare breed of true Southern Belles, my belief remains, as it always has, that I acted in your best interests throughout our relationship. I endeavoured to cater to your whims where reasonable, and kept from your sight only those things which would cause you unnecessary distress. As you have forbidden me to speak of my indiscretion, I will simply acknowledge the regrettable night you had the misfortune to interrupt as a weakness in my character. My history with Lorena Ball is not one I ever intended to discuss with you._

_It remains my hope that I have not been mistaken in your disposition, that you have not grown so vindictive or exploitive, that you would seek to bring me to ruin. I was shocked to read the full accounting of the injuries you sustained in the accident. I certainly would not have left you without medical attention if I had realized the extent of damage to your person. I encourage you to discuss with your counsellor the ample and fair offer that I make to you. I can only trust in the goodness of the woman I have known, and that she will do the right thing._

_Sincerely,_

_William Compton_

I set the letter down on the table. I opened the second envelope and it was in fact a property deed to the old Loudermilk property next door. The new Stackhouse property, apparently, because there was my name printed right on top. Good grief. Or as Amelia would say, "Bullshit." I breathed a heavy sigh and sat myself down. My phone rang, and I let it kick to voicemail. I felt like the natural response should be to shriek and throw things, but I was just dumbfounded. Just to be sure, I checked the box, but there was nothing else in there.

It was still the middle of the afternoon, and I figured that Amelia and Lafayette would be both busy and unhelpful. They would also shriek and want to throw things. If Amelia was at her construction site, that could be very dangerous, so better not. Mainly, and I checked myself thoroughly to be sure, I was decidedly _not_ freaking out. The tone of the letter was very careful, I'd noticed. Everything except the fact that I'd witnessed him screwing his evidently ex-wife in our bed had been written in the passive voice, because it just mysteriously happened that my ribs and my nose got broken in his vicinity. And the months and months of repeatedly lying to me? Well he was just protecting and preserving my delicate sensibilities. I figured the wording had been all deliberate in case I rejected his offer. The offer in itself seemed to be an admission of guilt as far as I was concerned. He could certainly afford to, and clearly had no moral objections about, being a spiteful liar in for the long term, if he was so determined.

Speaking of things he could afford, I looked at the deed again. I set the engagement ring box down on top of it and pushed it to the side. I called Mr. Cataliades. I read him the letter, and he agreed with me about the phrasing. He said the ring had been Bill's choice to give me or not, but that he was obligated to present me with the property deed. The way he'd written that had sounded begrudging, so I figured this was spot on. I wondered instantly about the tax. Cataliades told me that he'd look into the matter for me. I guess I was vaguely aware that property could be purchased for another person; if parents wanted to give their newlywed children a house, for example. I'd had no idea Bill had done this, but I guess I'd had no idea about a lot of things Bill had done. I was surprised, I wasn't _that_ surprised.

The lawyer asked me if I'd had time to review the documents and make a decision. I hadn't yet, but my only concern on that score at the moment was lifting the restraining order. This was part and parcel with the whole deal, so I'd need to be prepared to do that. We hung up after he said he would contact me again once he'd located the bill of sale for the property. He asked me to mail him a copy of Bill's letter, just to add to his files. I must have sat there for a long while because my phone rang again, and it was the same number as before. Mrs. Park was asking me in tomorrow for another day of subbing. Maybe they wouldn't mind if I used the photocopier. If they did, I could probably just stop by the library on my way home.

That evening I picked at some remnants of my lunch and totalled up my parting gifts from Bill. Thirty-two thousand dollars, plus the full cost of my medical bills, which would do a little bit to replenish what was quickly becoming my pitiful personal savings, as I'd already paid some out. The diamond in the ring was probably worth a lot. I would see about selling that. I certainly didn't intend on keeping it. The property had to be worth, oh, a couple hundred thousand dollars at least. I didn't really know real estate. I guess I'd have to wait to hear. Maybe I could find it online. What the heck was I going to do with some decrepit old plantation house? The ridiculous thing, of course, was that it was Gran's home that I loved, not the idea of a, what was it? A country _estate_. Tscha. That was more Bill, than me. What had he intended, that we weekend up at the big house and look down over Gran's across the cemetery? Ass. Right royal horse's ass.

I was ready to be over it, and over him. I'd call tomorrow to schedule my appointment at the lawyer's office next week. When it got late enough, I called Lafayette as I'd promised I would. His reaction turned out to be much like mine. The surprise was there, but without the shock and screeching I'd expected.

"What do you think you'll do with the property then?" he asked, sounding subdued.

"I don't know. It's just sat there unlived in for as long as I can remember. I guess thinking of it, I did know it was up for sale. I remember Gran getting all in a tizzy years ago about the possibility of new neighbours, but nothing ever came of it. I don't even know if the house is safe to enter at this point."

"Well they say real estate is always a good investment to have, right?" The English Professor and the Maths Teacher. Yeah, we totally knew what we were talking about.

"I guess they do. I don't know if they were talking about for a single gal on a teacher's salary, well, a substitute teacher's salary at this point."

"Talk to Broadway," he advises.

"Yes," I agree. "Maybe she'll have ideas, or at least...oh I don't know," I lament.

"Seems like a textbook case of mo' money, mo' problems," he observes in a droll little voice.

"Funny," I reply dully. "I'll call her tomorrow, it's getting late here and she'll be all, _loud_."

He chuckles at that. "And that ugly-ass ring?" he asks.

"Sell it I guess?" I say. "How the heck do you sell a diamond ring anyway?"

"I don't know. Ebay?" he suggests.

"I think I'll see if I can find a jeweller down in town. I guess I should have it appraised either way."

"You take Amelia with you for that," he says firmly.

"Why?" I ask.

"Honey, you don't want to be wandering around alone subjecting yo'self to all them strange, pitying stares as you try to hock an engagement ring."

"Ugh," I shudder at the thought.

"Has to be done though," he says.

"Yes," I sigh heavily.

"You're going to sign all he wants you to sign then?" Laf asks.

"Yes," I agree, again. "I just want this to be over. I am sick of thinking of him and having this all lingering in the background."

"That's good, Sook. You's got a life to move on to. Any word from New Orleans?"

"Got another interview next week," I say, trying to sound hopeful. St. Francis is not my first choice, nor even in my top ten.

"You just gotta keep going. You're fabulous, they'll see it."

"Yes, I am, aren't I," I agree, straining to brighten.

"Girl, you know you _is_," he says smoothly.

"I love you, Lafayette," I say, all sincerity.

"I love you too, Sookie," he says right back.

We say goodnight then, and I decide to turn in early. I didn't remember my dreams, but I woke up before my alarm the following morning feeling content. I ran through my usual morning routine and made it up to the school early. Mrs. Park said I could go right ahead and use the Xerox machine for just a couple of pages, so I went and made copies of the letter and the deed. The day went quickly and that afternoon I stopped at the Walmart and bought a fire safe. They're not terribly secure, but it had occurred to me that I was amassing quite a collection of important documents and God forbid something should happen, I didn't want them just lying around in a drawer.

For its small size, the thing was incredibly heavy. After lugging it to the car I drove to the Pack and Ship and sent copies of the documents down to Cataliades, and then I called his office to set up my appointment for next Wednesday. I didn't speak to the lawyer personally but I let them know to expect what I'd sent, as well. For good measure I sent a message to Amelia letting her know I had some news, and asking when would be the best time to call that night.

She called me back immediately, demanding my news, and she at least, did not let me down. It was the high-pitched, high-volume condemnation of my ex-boyfriend that I'd expected. It filled the Rabbit as I put her on speaker phone and drove home. Once I got there I had the chore of trying to manage the phone and my bag and the safe into the house as we chatted all the while.

"So what do you think you'll do?" she asks, finally winding down.

"With the property? Actually I was hoping you'd have a suggestion, it seems more your in your bailiwick than mine."

"Well I'd have to see it I guess," she says, immediately adopting a businesslike tone.

"Do you think you could some weekend?" I ask her. "I'll totally pay for you gas and whatever," I offer quickly.

"Psh. Of course," she says. "Not this weekend, but the one after?" she asks.

"That sounds perfect," I agree. "Oh and is it okay if I stay next Tuesday night?" I ask.

"Hmm," she says. Oh.

"Ah, it's no big deal Amelia, I can stay at a hotel."

"I'm sorry," she says apologetically. "I've just been having a lot of ...company...lately. We can go to her place, it's not a big deal," she finishes hurriedly.

"What? Of course not Amelia, I'm not going to put you out of your own apartment." _Her_ place, huh? That's what I was actually thinking. It's been mostly men with Amelia for a while now, apart from the odd one-night adventure.

"It's not that," she says quickly. "I'm just not ready to do the whole, meeting each other's people thing, yet. I don't want to jinx it."

"Jinx it?" I ask sweetly. "Why Miss Broadway, have you been getting up to _monogamy_?" I tease, affecting a horrified tone.

"Maybe," she answers, and I can hear her smile.

"And why is this the first I'm hearing of it?" I ask.

"Because you've been so busy, and I've been uh, _busy_..." she trails off.

"My my my," I say imperiously. "It seems love is in the air this lovely month of May. Lafayette might be bringing a man home to meet us in a couple months, too."

"Rasul?" she asks. "Yeah, I've talked to him, he sounds adorable," she says, trying to change the subject.

"Hmph," I say. _I_ didn't get to talk to Rasul. "Well, this could be a first if we're all happily paired up at the same time." The last time Amelia and Lafayette had had simultaneous significant others was pre-Bill, when Amelia had tried her hand at dating a basketball player, and Laf was seeing the clothes-bleacher. Neither of them had ever shown huge interest in steady dating on the whole. I was the settle-downer. They loved to put emphasis on the downer bit of that every time I wouldn't go out cruising with them.

"Speaking of," she asks. "How's Eric?"

"He's good," I say. "He sent me a million roses," I say dreamily, looking over at them on the table. I'd put a little lace covering down before I set the vase upon it.

"Just 'cause, or had he done something wrong?" she asks astutely.

"Just 'cause," I say. "Well, we had a little bit of a tiff before I left him Sunday, but we made up right away."

"Uh-huh, so what, he quietened you down with sex?" she asks sceptically.

"What? No. Well, I mean, we did have...but no, it wasn't like that. We just...like to do...that...a lot. It was coincidental."

"Please, you have a weakness for cock that is more exploitable than the Konami Code."

"I...what?"

"Sookie," she says seriously.

"Amelia?" I ask, confused. What the heck is a Konami Code?

"Whenever you used to talk about little problems with Bill, you would always finish with that adorable little, 'and then we fucked' blush of yours. Your stories never ended with, 'And then we talked it out and came to a reasonable conclusion,'" she says. "You sound like you're smitten, and that's great. If he's good, and it sounds like in general he's pretty good, then that's...good. But I don't... I'm just not going to not-say something now that I always felt like I should have said, before," she finishes.

"Amelia," I begin, without knowing how I'm going to finish.

"Sookie," she interrupts. "I'm sorry. Maybe that's out of line for me to say, but I'm going to claim 'being a friend' on this one. Because it turned out that you and Bill had communication issues up the wazoo, and that's putting it mildly. I just don't want to see you start something new, and allow someone else to take advantage of your trusting nature. Because I'm sorry to say, but clearly not every guy's silence on a subject means he's taking your best interests into heart."

"Amelia, it was just a tiff, and I did speak my peace, which is mainly what started it anyway."

"No, don't do that either. I know you Sookie, and it takes more than a little provocation to get you to _speak your peace_, because when you finally do, it's because you're so annoyed you can't contain it."

This is the problem with best friends. They know you so well it can be almost painful to hear at times. I'd been so annoyed by the way Eric assumed I would present myself to be at his beck and call that I'd snapped at him, and brought up the family stuff that I knew would just make him as angry as I'd been right in that moment.

"You're right," I sigh.

"I'm not saying it to be right," she says.

"No, I know. And thank you. I'll try to remember it, it's just sometimes hard."

"Yeah, I think that's what I said was the problem," she says with a smirk. Yeah, yeah, hard penises. Take my friend - _please_. "So, when do I get to meet this guy anyway? I can't believe he's been to Bon Temps and hung out with Jason and I've never even set eyes on him," she says. I appreciate it. She's being encouraging about me and Eric despite her warnings.

"Actually, I was just telling him that I wanted to get you guys together. You know he's going to be running the Northman Group now, or soon, anyway. I thought maybe, I don't know, you and he might have stuff to discuss. I know the scale is more your father's thing, but he has avoided it almost entirely. I get the impression that he very deliberately never got a clue about the whole business and now he's just swamped in it."

"That'd be interesting, sure," she agrees. "Next time you're both down here then?" she asks.

I agree to that and before much longer we say our goodbyes. I loaded up my new safe with all my important documents and slid it under the bed. The bed. I felt momentarily pleased that my savings account would soon be fortified and I could actually see about getting a new one for in here, and then I immediately felt weird about that, about spending Bill's money on a shopping spree. I shook it off. Nope, I was going to stay in a good mood. I cleaned my bathroom. Hey, we all have our ways of clearing our heads. Later that night, I remembered that I had to make arrangements for a hotel to stay at Tuesday night. I was definitely not going to try to get up in the middle of the night and arrive for my interview next week looking exactly like I'd just had a long car ride, and furthermore, I was not going to put Amelia out of her own house.

I thought of staying at Eric's hotel, which I'd so often frequented lately, but I wasn't sure if it would be odd, or if it was worth spending so much just for an overnight stay. I wished he'd still be in town then, so I could stay with him. Not just for the lodging, obviously. We hadn't talked the day before, nor done much more than say goodnight on Monday evening. His spider senses must have been tingling because he called me then.

"Was your nose itching?" I answer.

"Pardon?" he asks.

"I was just thinking of you," I say.

"Naughty things, I hope," he says.

"Maybe," I say. Not naughty, but you know, let him think so. "How's it been going?" I ask.

"Well, I think. Peter's being difficult, but it's almost comically obvious that it's just to delay the process so he can get up to whatever schemes he's working on. Every meeting with him feels like an exhibition on the subject of dramatic irony."

"Ever gonna tell me about that?" I ask.

"All in good time, my pretty," he says. Wizard of Oz Eric? God, you're adorable.

"And the rest?"

He sighs. "It's okay. I gave them Monday, and they've assured me they can hold down the fort for a few weeks, so that is good. I'm meeting with Sophie Ann next Monday to discuss my plans. I'm heading back up Friday night," he says.

I regretted that I definitely wouldn't see him before he went back, but decided against commenting on that since he's already made it clear he was of the same mind on Sunday. So instead I told him about the forthcoming conclusion of the Bill fiasco, including my surprise 'presents'.

"Is that the going rate for a Sookie?" he asks. "Three carats and sixty acres?"

"Apparently," I say dryly. Actually, a little ouch there.

"I will enjoy firing him a second time."

I laughed at that. "Eric, you don't have to do that."

"Not to downplay my gallantry on the subject, but it won't be for you. It'll be the way he and Lorena left Area Five. And you may not be suing him, which, fine, that's your choice, though you certainly could if you wanted to, but we most assuredly are."

"I guess maybe that explains the change of heart on the settlement he's offering now."

"Could be. He's certainly in it up to his neck at the moment."

"I can't say I feel too bad for him," I admit.

"And you shouldn't. And you should equally feel just fine about taking whatever it is he's giving or returning or whatever it is, to you."

"It's odd though."

"Understandable. So I talked to Pam," he says.

"Yes?"

"She's going to stay with me, and leave Area Five when I do."

I smile at that. "I'm glad. You need her!"

He laughs, "True. You should give her a call sometime. She was complaining."

"Something about Backwater Barbie and her making fun of my dream house, I'm sure."

I hear him stifle a snigger. "Yes, something very much along those lines. So, what are you up to tonight?"

"Checking out your competition," I say, and then explain about Amelia's secret lover and how I refuse to impose upon her next week.

"Ah, market research, yes," he confirms. "That'll be fun, actually."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, well I guess I thought at some point that I would try staying at other comparable places in the cities where they...where I...own properties. And then seeing if we're missing anything or if they do things better."

"That does sound fun," I agree. That was a completely unprompted positive thing that he said about his new job. Yay!

"Maybe you will help with that. I am given to understand you have a discerning eye about shower facilities. And of course beds. I will definitely need a second opinion on these things," he says, putting a little sexy into his voice, you know, in case I missed his utterly unsubtle hint about testing the beds. Sometimes, I want to remind that man that he's a blonde too!

I laugh. "Well I'll have to check my schedule," I say. "Let me know when you plan your first excursion."

He agrees, and we talk for a bit more before saying goodnight. I was teaching again on the following day and spent most of my lunch break chatting with Maryelizabeth Norris. We made plans to get together on Saturday with Holly Cleary, Crystal herself, and another of Crystal's apparently many cousins to get started on wedding planning. She was aiming for the Fourth of July. She felt it was a brilliant idea because there would always be a party on their anniversary, and everyone would feel like celebrating. That sounded nice. Right before my lunch period ended I got another phone call with some wonderful news. I hardly had time to wrap it up before the bell was ringing and I had to race from the faculty room back up to the Earth Sciences classroom. I was giddy and the clicky click of my shoes as I skirted past lollygagging students before I, myself was late, made me grin.

I made it through the door just before the bell and my class laughed as I made an exaggerated gesture out of wiping my hand across my forehead in relief. I called attendance, unable to hide my cheer. The students noticed.

"Miss Stackhouse, why are you so smiley today?"

"Am I not always smiley Mister Turner?" I asked back. I like to think I had garnered a quick reputation as a friendly substitute.

"Yeah, but today you're extra smiley. Did you win the lotto at lunch?"

"No, but I found out at lunch that I've got a full time job teaching next year," I beamed. They cheered. My enthusiasm was clearly infectious.

"Are you taking over for Missus Perkins?" one student asked?

"Is Mister Caloway quitting?" another demanded.

"Oh my God! Are they getting rid of Grocer?" This got more cheering. I saw one of the hall aides peer in through the window and I hurriedly shushed everyone.

"Butts on chairs, quiet down!" I grinned. They settled.

"It's not here, unfortunately," I said. A couple of faces actually looked disappointed, bless them. "I'll be down in New Orleans at Peterson Academy."

This got a couple of low "Ohhs." They asked me a few more questions about my new job, and some of them seemed really surprised when they found out I was normally a math teacher.

"And just what do you have against math teachers?" I asked them.

"Math is stupid," said snotty looking girl who the roster had identified as Jannalyn Hopper. And yeah, I'm sorry, but teachers do recognize the snotty students, or the rude ones, and any of the other sore thumbs. We don't hold it against them, but we're not blind.

"Au contraire, mon ami," I tell her. On the contrary, my friend. "Math is a delight, and the kind I teach is the kind that stays useful throughout your life."

"Oh, so you teach the calculator then?" she snarked. Well I guess not everyone had a nice lunch.

"Actually I have taken a math class before that was primarily devoted to teaching how to use the calculator. Those graphing calculators can be pretty complicated. Anybody using those yet?" I tried to deflect.

"My brother has one," one student offers. "But I'm not allowed to touch it."

I grin at that. "Maybe he'll hand it down to you when he's done his calculus." I see the student nod. That's about all high schoolers really use them for. "Now, I think we'll do something about Earth Science," I say, and then draw the crude, stick-figure hanged man gallows on the board. "I believe you're working on plate tectonics?" This is met with agreement so I draw the spaces out on the board.

"And your hint," I tell them, "Is June Carter."

"Ring of fire!" a boy calls out.

"Hands please," I admonish. I had the boy explain the Pacific Ring of Fire, referring to the ring of volcanoes surrounding the Pacific Plate. Thinking that had been too easy, I did another clue for 'lithosphere' that had them guessing a while longer. We played the game through the rest of the class, and I made a point to call on Miss Hopper for letters several times. She managed to guess one clue by the time the bell rang. It felt like a small victory. The rest of my lessons that day went by in a breeze and I phoned both Lafayette and Amelia before I left the school just to tell them my good news. They were duly ecstatic for me.

I tried to call Eric when he got home, but he didn't answer, so I called Pam.

"This is Pam," she answered.

"Is it? I was trying to reach Malibu Skipper, is she available?"

"Skipper? Oh, I don't think so Sookie, I am not the little sister."

"But Pammy," I say soothingly.

"I will hang up on you," she states.

"Oh I'm so sorry Ms. Ravenscroft," I chime back at her.

"Better. To what do I owe the honor?"

"I have happy news to share," I start.

"And Eric's in a meeting," she says flatly.

"Well that too, but I have also been meaning to call you. I wanted to tell you what a lovely job you did with the funeral. I'm going to go ahead and assume that every thoughtful touch was yours, and it was as nice as it could have been, under the circumstances," I say.

"Thank you," she accepts. "It was a trying week. I was unsure what else to do with myself after clearing Eric."

"How was it, coordinating with Ana?"

"Oh that woman is just a _peach_," she says. She says peach exactly like she means something similar sounding with a lot more 'ih' than 'ee'.

"Isn't she? Oh God, I was left alone with her for the longest half hour in my life," I commiserate.

"How awful for you. At first I tried to get her input on everything and it was like pulling teeth. The only thing she had a concrete opinion about was the flowers, so I gave her the names of several florists to choose from, and she still threw placing the order back to me. Everything else, it was just me showing her options and her saying she didn't like it and me having to find something else."

"She spoke well of you. You were practically the only thing in and around Louisiana I heard her speak well of, in fact," I say.

"I suppose that's something. How did Eric do with his family? He wouldn't talk about it."

"It went better than it could have gone. They're not all terrible. Nobody threw anything or started shouting, but there were a lot of tense moments."

"So better than Tuesday then."

"He didn't give me all the details, what happened on Tuesday?"

"Shouting and throwing things."

"Seriously?"

"Well, there was shouting at least, before he left." Pam confirmed. "But, now you must tell me your happy news so that I may gloat at Eric that for once I know something he doesn't."

"I was offered a job at Peterson Academy today," I say, smiling to myself as I do.

"Is that the one with the teacher who frequents prostitutes?"

"That's the one, yes."

"Oh, that's wonderful then. Is that the job?"

"What, visiting prostitutes? No Pam, I'll be _teaching_," I smirk.

"No I mean, is that the job you got? The job from that that guy lost?"

"Um... I think so, yes. I sent them my resume the day after we had that dinner, but I only interviewed last week," I say.

"That's priceless," she laughs. "Sookie, what a little opportunist you are!" She's cackling now.

"Hey, I sent resumes to practically every school in the city," I say defensively.

"I'm sure you did, I'm sure you did. Pardon me though, I like this idea of the mercenary little you seizing upon others' misfortune."

"Pam!" I exclaim. "It wasn't like that! Anyway, it's not like he accidentally got arrested for seeing a prostitute."

"Oh, I'm sure the arrest was not intentional," Pam says. "Oh look, Eric is coming. Eric, Sookie has news! But I am afraid you are wanted in conference room B, so it will have to wait!" She's taunting him, and I am just along for the ride at this point.

"That's her?" I hear him ask.

"Yes, but you're busy. I'm afraid your work day isn't over until eight. Go." She's speaking clearly right into the phone but not talking to me.

"Is it good news?" he asks.

"I will tell you that it is good news, only because you can't afford the distraction," Pam decides. "Now go, you've been late all day."

"Hello Sookie," he says suddenly. He must have taken the phone from her. "You have good news?"

"That I do," I say. "And I'll tell you if you call me tonight, but get to your meeting or face the wrath of Pam," I joke.

"Alright, _lover_, I'll talk to you soon." Heh. That was purely for Pam's benefit.

"That was disgusting." Pam has her phone back again. "I haven't even seen you as a proper couple and I'm already sickened."

"We aim to please," I snark.

"Yes well. Unfortunately you'll have to get married and have babies now. I've gotten used to the idea and I've already told you I won't be abide a breakup."

"No problem, Pammy. We've already talked about it. He wants four," I say, delighting at the shocked expression which I have no doubt is plainly written across her face right now.

"You... are fucking with me," she states plainly, after a long pause.

I giggle. "You should go out drinking with your boss sometime, Pam, he's a funny guy."

"Pssha," I hear her mutter. "Alright, I have work to do. Some of us work a whole day, you know."

I can't help but roll my eyes. "It's a trade off, but we'll play 'Would You Rather' another time."

"Congratulations on the job, Sookie."

"Thanks Pam," I reply.

She disconnects. I continue my good news tour by calling Jason and Crystal, now officially living together, though she was still in the process of moving all her stuff. They were happy for me in a much more subdued way, and I found myself assuring them that I'd still be visiting plenty. I remembered that I also had to talk to Jason about Bill and the new property, but I didn't really feel like doing that on the speakerphone with Crystal. I know, she's about to be family, but, well, I just didn't want to. So I'd sit down with Jason and tell him about it another day.

Headmaster Keeting had invited me to come down on Monday to sign my official employment contract, so I went ahead and booked a hotel room that night to check in on Sunday and checkout on Wednesday. Not Eric's hotel, another. It was still nice, but cost about a third as much. I'd cancel my interview with St. Francis in the morning, but I still needed to meet with Mr. Cataliades on Wednesday, and I would use Tuesday to start browsing around for real estate. While I was thinking about it, I went ahead and called Arlene and made a lunch date. I wanted to hear about how she was doing with the pregnancy. She was a couple of months ahead of Crystal. It would be like a sneak peak.

I'd been flitting around all evening, to the point that I'd forgotten to eat until my stomach growled loudly, so I was having a sandwich when Eric called after nine. I answered with my mouth full, and he laughed from the beginning. He sounded genuinely happy for me when I told him the news.

"That's amazing, Sookie, when do you start?"

"Well, we talked about the summer program, but I'm not sure when that starts, or how long it runs. I'll get the full details on Monday, but I guess, as early as next month, or maybe July."

"That's great," he agrees. "So you'll have to move again then?"

"Well first I need to find a place, and then I'll have to move, but it won't be a full move. I intend to keep things here and go back to my old habit of being up here on the odd weekends."

"That'll be nice," he agrees.

"I also want to sort of start building my own household, you know? Everything here at Gran's house, well, mostly everything, was Gran's. I like it, of course, but I also want to do more of building up my things, in my taste."

"So you won't have a lot to move," he surmises.

"Exactly."

"It sounds like you'll have fun."

"I think so. I'm kind of looking forward to Saturday shopping trips and being excited about things like new water glasses."

He chuckles at that. "So are you going to buy a house?"

"Why, cause two is not enough?" I quip.

"You said the one is more of a ruin. You could always sell it, and buy in town."

"I guess I could, but as far as I know it was on the market for ages and ages before it was bought."

"Ah. Well, if nothing else, you have more forest to walk through, for when you're up there."

Laughing I agree, "Yes, I suppose there's that. I might go over there tomorrow and see what there is to see. I've been too busy yet. I think I'm going to rent down there though. I need to just get a handle on things. You know, no more big events for a couple of months. Or the length of a lease."

"That sounds like a very practical plan."

We chatted a bit more about apartments and houses and he admitted he'd never owned either, which struck me as terribly funny, prompting him to assure me of course, that it was by choice. The entire tenor of that part of the conversation was a little awkward, and I assumed it was mainly because of the fact that while he did like New Orleans quite a lot, he was still not pleased about the fact that he'd have to be doing the whole apartment searching thing himself again soon, and all the circumstances surrounding that. After we said goodnight, I realized I'd come down a fair bit from the high of being newly, about-to-be employed. I was still feeling great, just not as euphoric. Cloud four, maybe, as opposed to cloud nine.

I made my calls on Friday morning, and then I did walk across the cemetery, taking time to sweep some of the grass clippings and leaves away from the graves of my parents and grandparents. The house had been a fine old plantation house, up until about ten years ago, which was the last time anyone had lived here. Looking around the yard I thought that it might give even Jason's ride on mower a challenge. It was so overgrown I found myself checking for ticks after I'd trodden through to the rutted drive with its sparse gravel. Yeah, this was a fixer upper alright. Looking down the lane I saw the pleasing canopy of characteristic live oaks was greening up beautifully, and that was certainly charming, but looking toward the house was a different story.

I was afraid to even walk up on the stairs, the wood looked so worn and almost rotted through in places. The windows looked to all be intact, as was the door, but I just didn't want to risk getting closer to see them. To say the house was in need of a coat of paint was an understatement. The place had clearly not been well maintained up to the point where it became uninhabited. I bet it would cost a heck of a lot more to renovate than it would to just tear it down and build a brand new house here. But then of course the voice of Gran piped up to tell me what a crime it would be to destroy such a beautiful old home. Not that it was particularly beautiful at the moment, but it had the high columned front and the broad stairs and the rows of neatly matched windows. It had once been beautiful at least, I could see that. I'd have to do something with it. Darn it, Bill. This was no kind of gift. It was a responsibility! I wondered what he would have done, fixed it or torn it down? I felt like he probably would have fixed it. Original antebellum homes like this, well maintained, were some of the gems of the South. He and I had always agreed on that.

I snapped a few pictures on my cell phone. I couldn't really see trying to get around back. I might need a machete or something to cut through the kudzu, which was everywhere. I sighed, and headed back down the driveway. I was not even going to attempt wading through that grass again. I called my brother. He was at work, but maybe he could take an interruption.

"Hey Jason," I say when he answers.

"Hey Sook, you good?" he asks, clearly wondering why I'm calling him in the middle of the day.

"I'm fine. Listen, do you know a good contractor?"

"Something wrong up at the house? You need me to come take a look?"

"No, the house is fine. It's actually about the old Loudermilk place."

"Across the cemetery?"

"Yup, that one."

"What about it?"

"Well, it's mine." I say. I hit Hummingbird road just as a car was passing. I recognized one of the church ladies and gave a little wave.

"What do you mean it's yours? You bought that old place?"

"No, Bill bought it, in my name. Apparently he was going to fix it up so it could serve as his, as our, country house. I guess he wasn't as much of a fan of Gran's as he let me think, big surprise there." I say.

"Shit, Sook, so it's yours now?"

"Seems so. Anyway the place is a wreck. I don't even know where to start."

"Well, I know a few guys that could do some work, but I think you should probably start with a proper survey of the house and the land. They're not cheap, but you probably want Herveaux and Son. The Parish has a contract with them, but they do private work too. They could probably point you in the direction of what you need, even if that's a bulldozer."

I bit my lip. 'Not cheap' was what I'd figured, but hearing it confirmed rankled. I guess I'd wait until after I'd gotten Bill's settlement. At least this seemed like a use to which I could put that money - a problem Bill had handed me. "That man's just the gift that keeps on giving," I mutter.

"What was that?" Jason asks.

"Oh, just complaining," I say. "Alright, I'll give them a call next week. You got plans for Sunday?" I ask.

"Crystal's cookin'. You coming for supper?"

"Shoot, no, I can't. I have to be back in New Orleans for Monday," I sigh. "Come to church with me?" I suggest. It was a long shot.

"Sure, alright. What time?" he asks.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Well, Crystal wants to get married in church, so I guess I better show my face once in a while."

"Jason Stackhouse, are you fooling with me?"

"Nope," he says.

"Then I'll see you both at ten on Sunday."

"We'll be there," he agrees.

Son of a gun. I guess he was taking this whole family man thing to heart. Sunday services had long ago fallen by the wayside in favour of Saturday nights where my brother was concerned. Times were certainly changing if I could get Jason to church without so much as a guilt trip. After we hung up I went ahead and sent the photos I'd taken to Amelia. She replied with a very ambiguous text of "Ooo."

Eric called before he got on his plane to fly back to Seattle. He sounded exhausted, and when I told him so he confirmed it. He told me he'd be back in New Orleans in a week or two, depending on what his boss wanted. I would make a point of definitely seeing him then. I woke up on Saturday to see that I had a text from him when he'd gotten in. My weekend was uneventful and mostly full of Jason and Crystal. I met Maryelizabeth and the girls for lunch and we talked about whether or not it would be better to hold the wedding on July 4th actually or the following weekend. I asked Crystal if she and Jason would be taking a honeymoon and she said that because he could only get a couple of days off work anyway, it would be better to just do it in the middle of the week, so they could take those couple of days sandwiched between the holiday and the weekend. That sounded like the best idea. They were going to go up to the hot springs in Arkansas after the wedding. It sounded really nice.

We went back and forth laying out the basic framework for the wedding. She wanted the ceremony done in church. She wanted the colours to be purple and peach. I pushed real, real hard for the ladies to be in the peach, but I was overruled. Brides. They just have to get their ways. I don't look great in purple. She wanted a professional photographer. She didn't have her dress yet, but she was going to start taking trips to Shreveport next week. She didn't care about the reception. Her cousin suggested a big old barbeque at their house. Jason's back yard was large and level, so bringing in extra tables wouldn't be a problem. It was on the lake, so they could do fireworks at night. Holly volunteered that Hoyt could be in charge of organizing the fireworks display.

Crystal wanted a big white sheet cake with strawberry filling, the type you can buy at the grocery store. That's what she wanted. She said it was the cake she liked, and why should she pay a fancy bakery hundreds of dollars to put a bunch of edible silver beads on some many tiered falderal when she'd enjoy the thirty-nine dollar one from Costco even more? She said instead that the fancy cake should be the Groom's cake, because Jason wanted the bleeding armadillo cake (red velvet cake with grey coloured cream cheese frosting), just like in the movie 'Steel Magnolias.' Maryelizabeth was betting that she could make one. I volunteered to try to find a bakery that would make one, just in case she was too busy. It was my way of politely telling her, "You'll probably be too busy," without actually saying it that way.

So in the end, my tasks ended up being to find the photographer and someone to bake us up a bleedin' armadillo cake. Holly was going to hire the extra tables and chairs and organize a few of the guys to bring over extra grills to cook on. Crystal's other cousin, Terry, was going to get the cake and the food. They started debating whether or not we should roast a whole pig. Maryelizabeth was just going to be Crystal's go-to gal for everything else. We ended our luncheon of list-making with Crystal assuring us that she'd have bridesmaids gowns picked out for us soon, and that if we wanted to start dieting, now would be the time. I just laughed and rolled my eyes at Holly, who grinned back. She was a bit curvy like me, unlike the bean pole Norris women.

At church the next day it was Jason and Crystal as the centre of all attention. Gran's friends were looking forward to their wedding. They'd decided not to say anything about the baby outside of family and their very close circle of friends. As far as anyone knew, Crystal had tamed this lothario brother of mine, and got him to church to boot by the sheer power of her decent virtues. The old ladies regarded her as a modern miracle worker. I was told three separate times that Gran would have been so happy to see us both here together. I agreed with sincerity each time it was mentioned.

I didn't stay long after church as I needed to get down south, and several hours later I was in my hotel room going back and forth between the bed, which held my bag, and the closet, which held the nice outfits I'd brought to choose from for tomorrow. I had decided to stick with what had worked. I brought normal clothes, not business suits. I decided I was going to wear a pinstriped grey skirt with a blouse and a cardigan tomorrow. I did do some 'market research' on the shower. It was just a normal one, so Eric's hotel had it beat by a mile. The one measly showerhead it had was quite high up though. I would have to give it marks for the fact that Eric wouldn't need to crouch. The bed was heavenly. I would have to say it was a tie, there.

My Peterson meeting went very well. Headmaster Keeting met me right at the front entrance, and I got the full tour that we hadn't had time for in our initial interview. I met several of the other teachers before we returned to his office where I filled out the paperwork. My contract was for one school year, after which time I'd have a review and either be offered a longer term or let go. He assured me that barring anything extraordinary, which would be very obvious, most teachers were asked to remain. I was given a code of conduct and it was impressed upon me that I would need to know it and violations would be grounds for immediate termination. Given the vacancy that allowed my hire, I can't say I blamed him for driving this point home.

I was to start the second week of July at the first of two consecutive summer programs. They ran the second three weeks in July, and then a week off, and then for three weeks in August, and then the school year started the second week of September. The challenge with the summer program would be that some students joined one or the other or both sessions. I would have to craft a curriculum that was not repetitive, and also did not exclude any students in the second session who had not attended the first. And of course, it was intended to be fun, while also being academically engaging. Basically it seemed like school-camp. I would only be working with the students directly for three hours a day, from nine until noon, but I would remain present in the afternoons to help supervise during a free activity time that was split between sports and fine arts. This way the school would maintain the high staff to student ratio.

The pay for the summer program was separate from my normal salary, which would begin in September. The salary was generous. It was significantly more than I'd made at the Parish. That's not the norm, for a private school. It spoke to the prestigious calibre of Peterson and the size of its endowment. It wasn't over the top, and I'm sure it wasn't anywhere near what most of my friends earned (except maybe Laf, for the time being), but I didn't get into teaching to make the big bucks. For me, it seemed solid. I felt very proud when I saw the number. That was weird because I'd never wanted to associate my self-worth with a monetary value. I'd save that one for future introspection.

I signed everything there was to sign, including the government tax forms that I considered proved my official employment status. Yay! Before leaving, I was given a schedule of meetings that I would need to attend over the next couple of months. These were planning meetings for the summer program, year-end faculty meetings, trustees meetings, parents' association meetings. The Headmaster said that once I had settled in, I would be able to skip all but the mandatory faculty meetings in the future, but strongly urged me to acquaint myself early with the other teachers, parents, and administrators. I gathered that it was kind of important that I fully embrace my place in the school. I was officially a Petie. Yes, that is the nickname they use to refer to all students and teams of the school.

The main thing I had to do in the next couple of weeks was work on the curriculum for the summer program, to be presented to the Headmaster, the Deputy Headmaster, and the Director of the summer program the first week in June. My curriculum for the school year would not be due until the first of August and I would need to meet with my department head long before that to help me and also to discuss textbooks. The students bought their own each year, but of course they had to be approved early and ordered by the department.

So, here was me, officially the Albegra and Geometry teacher at Peterson Academy, New Orleans (effective Fall, 2012). I'd have all of the ninth grade classes, and the majority of the tenth grade. I had the regular courses for both grades, and then I had both the honours class and one remedial class for ninth grade. Because many students came to Peterson only for high school, the math skills they brought from their previous schools were not always up to scratch. By no means would I have a class full of dummies. The remedial course covered the same material as the regular ninth grade class, but allowed me to take more time with the students as individuals. They would move into the normal tenth grade course, as would the ninth graders who didn't go into the sophomore honours class, taught by someone else. By contrast, the ninth grade honours class was more or less the same as the tenth grade regular class, so effectively I'd have two and two. By senior year, all students would be taking at least one AP course. The program was definitely academically rigorous.

I was at Peterson for the entire morning and a fair portion of the afternoon getting my orientation. I didn't mind a bit. I got back to my hotel that afternoon and sat down with some paper and a pen. My head had been buzzing all day with ideas for the summer program and the curriculum for next year. I know I had a while to get it done, but I didn't want to forget anything that might prove interesting. It was early evening when my phone rang.

"Hi Eric!" I say with enthusiasm.

"Hey Sookie," he says, sounding fathoms less enthusiastic than I.

"What's wrong?" I ask immediately.

"Sophie Ann did not care for my six months' to exit plan."

Frowning, "What does that mean?"

"I've got about six weeks to finish...what I started. After that they'll be promoting to replace me and they'll just be rolling the dice with Peter Threadgill. It's great for them, because if, or rather, _when_ it goes horribly fucking wrong, they can just blame me, and I won't be there anymore."

"How...convenient for them," I say, letting my sarcasm show, so he knows I am on his side.

"Right, so it'll just be my personal reputation at stake, just as I'm taking up a new enterprise, not theirs as a company."

"Can you do... whatever it is you're doing, in six weeks?"

"I guess we'll see. That's the only good news."

"What's the only good news?"

"I'm on my way to Sea-Tac. I'll be in by eleven, your-time. Think you might want to pick me up?"

I smile. "Gladly."


	16. Busy, Busy

A/N: forum. random- fandom. net - seems like a nifty place to hang around. They have a few interesting discussions going whether you are a ff reader or a writer or just a fan of **any** series, so if you are not already over there, maybe go have a look-see. Thank you for the love after last chapter. I'm a bit embarrassed now. FF is being weird this week.

* * *

><p>I told Eric all about Peterson as we drove back to my hotel, looking over at him from time to time. He had the seat all the way back and still had his knees practically touching the dashboard. He was politely not mentioning the fact that he was clearly very cramped, which I appreciated. I figure he knew what he was getting, and if he really minded, he could have just called for a car instead of calling me. In the same light, I was taking him back to my hotel rather than his.<p>

"Do you have any ideas for the summer programs?" he asks with interest.

"Only one so far. I was thinking that we could play with different numeral and counting systems. So the base ten system that we use, you know, one, ten, one hundred, one thousand, but then also base five, base eight, and some of the ones from antiquity...the Babylonian system, and Roman and Egyptian numerals of course."

"So hex and binary and such?"

"Oh especially those, because they're in such wide use in computers. I was actually in college before I ever even encountered other number systems, and then we were a bunch of eighteen, nineteen year olds, counting on our fingers."

He laughs at that, "Yeah, I was the same, though we only did binary. I taught myself hex one weekend."

"Sounds like a wild time," I grin.

"I'm not about to be mocked for my intellectual curiosity by the woman who's sitting here giddy over the prospect of working at math camp."

"Touché," I concede. "Anyway, I also thought we could do something with the Mayan Calendar, you know using their base-twenty counting to learn it, and then extrapolate future dates. It could be kind of cute, with all the doomsday predictions going for this year. Maybe like mythbusting, or saving the world with math skills or something silly."

"Since that actually does sound fun, I'd say you've got a hit."

"You think?"

"I do. So you've got all sorts of meetings down here for the new few weeks?"

"Yeah," I agree.

"Sounds nice and hectic."

"Yes," I agree again.

We arrive back at my hotel and he retrieves his bag from my trunk and carries it up to the lobby. A bellhop approaches but Eric waves him off and we head to the elevator. I found myself mildly pleased that someone had tried to attend him. It was a little bit of proof that I'd made a good choice in this current hotel. Once we reach my room he asks if I mind if he showers, and of course I don't. He just leaves his bag and heads in the bathroom so I had an amusing time of setting up the luggage rack with his bag for him, as he'd done for me when I stayed at his hotel room. I stripped off and got right into bed, since it was late. He wasn't long in joining me, all warm and damp from his shower. I found myself pressing into him eagerly and he does not leave me wanting.

He quickly rolls on top of me, kissing me hard on the mouth, parting my lips while his hands get busy running up and down my sides, wrapping around me. I wrap myself around him right back, my legs coming up to lock around his hips. I hold one arm around his neck, my hand fisting in his hair and the other across his shoulders. I thought I was holding him to me, but it turns out I was holding me to him as he comes up on his knees and shifts me easily up the bed, my back now resting against the pillows. He pulls my arms free of him, pinning them to my sides by the wrists as he slides down my body, licking and nibbling as he goes. My legs fall away from him, feet falling flat on either side of him. At the impulse to touch him, I pull at my arms and he releases me, his hands dragging over the tops of my thighs then pushing back up the insides, spreading me wide open for him. I hear myself let out a soft mewl, in wanting and anticipation.

He pulls his gaze from my sex which had fascinated him and locks his eyes on mine. "I shouldn't want you this fucking badly after only a week," he says in a low voice. My lips part to reply, though I've nothing to say to that. He shakes his head at me, telling me he needs no response and then tells me to watch him, and I do. His eyes close as he dips his head to me, tasting me and I sigh as I shiver. When he lifts his eyes again, I meet them. He rewards me over and over, tongue stroking, swirling, lapping. I lower a hand and part my fingers, spreading myself further for him. He kisses my fingertips. My vision goes hazy and my breathing hitched and ragged and all I can focus on are his dark, sparkling eyes hooded with the same lust I feel and the tight warmth coiling between my hips. My soft cries thrum apace with the rhythm he sets. They are nothing I can control and suddenly the rush of heat bursts outward and I arch upward in my bliss, my shoulders lifting, my hand rising to his chin as if I could pull him to me with only that.

And it works, by a miracle, as he draws his knees up under my legs and lifts me on to him, rising to meet me. He impales himself in me and I bury my face into his chest still trembling. His hips rock and I feel him moving inside of me and I cling to him, unable to do more for several moments until finally I find my legs and begin to shift in counter measure. I reach back behind me with one hand and then the other, draped across his thighs and half spread out before him. From here I can see his eyes again. He clutches my hips and I feel him move faster, pulling me against his thrusts. I let him take over. I let my head fall back. I hear him grunt and groan. It is animal. I fix my feet to the bed and lift my hips and then all I can feel is him driving into me. It is the only sensation I'm aware of until he brings his thumb to me and then I am gone again. I feel him grab at my hips as I fall away, hear him moan his pleasure. I feel the hot splash of it across my belly. He slumps beside me, our legs entangled.

After minutes, "Jesus Christ," he breathes out.

"Amen," I agree.

We slept.

I woke up to him getting out of bed and I complained with a soft little whine. I tried to reach for him but he was gone, so I slumped across the warm bit of mattress he'd just vacated. I heard him telling me to give him three minutes, then join him. I think I gave him a few more than that. I'm fairly certain I dozed off again for a bit. I found him in the shower and he seemed very awake, taking a wholly undo amount of joy in the fact that the spray aimed at his shoulders hit me right in the face. He nudged me forward and rinsed himself off.

"This one is no good for sharing," he says, before kissing me and leaving me there. I took a quick but thorough shower. We'd fallen asleep covered in sex and while in the moment, if I had thought of it at all, it had seemed sexy and intimate. We'd so exhausted each other that we could do nothing else but pass out. This morning, not so much.

"I called for breakfast," he tells me when I emerge wrapped in a towel. "And the newspaper, so you can start looking at apartments."

"Thank you," I say, yawning. "Coffee too?"

He just smirks at that. It's a given. I grabbed a lavender bra and panty set out of my bag and slipped them on. Lavender works for me, it's that bold, dark, satiny purple I just know Crystal has in mind for her bridesmaids' gowns that I'm dreading. Eric was watching me again, so I walked to the closet and held up two sundresses and asked him to choose. He picked the blue-green one, over the pink. I slipped it on, as well as a shrug, and then some sandals. I find a comb and start to work on my hair.

"So, what do you have planned today?" I ask him.

"I think I need to make a plan today. There are a number of people here I need to contact."

"I can take you over to your place whenever. I don't have anywhere to be until one o'clock, and then I'm having lunch with a friend."

"Sorority friend?" he asks.

"Arlene, yeah. I don't know if I mentioned, she's having a baby."

"Lot of that going around," he observes.

"Heh, not for me. I got my shot at my last check up," I assure him. "But yes, it'll be interesting to talk to her and such so I'll know, and so I can pass tips to Jason about Crystal."

There was a knock at the door then and I answered it, tipping the man who brought up our food. We settled down and I found that he'd got me blueberry pancakes, which turned out to be just what I was in the mood for. I went right for the real estate section, leaving the rest of the paper to him.

"What time is checkout?" he asks. He was breezing through the pages, doing little more than reading the headlines to keep himself busy.

"Mm. Eleven I think? I'm here until tomorrow though."

"You're not coming back with me?"

"You're not staying with me?" I counter. I know that probably we'll end up back at his place, but I'll go ahead and have this volley.

"My room is larger," he says with a smile.

"But we are already here," I say.

"The bathroom is nicer there," he says.

"The breakfast is better here," I assert. It was. These pancakes are freaking delicious, buttery and tart from the berries and dusted with powdered sugar. Mmm. I take another big bite for emphasis. He frowns and leans over and helps himself to a bite of them. I grin when he gives a reluctant nod to acknowledge their superiority.

"The bed..." he begins.

"Oh I think the bed here is very nice," I say quickly.

"Yes, I won't argue that. I have more things there," he says.

"I have more things here."

"Sookie, will you please check out early and come stay with me until you have to leave?"

"Well alright. Since you've asked so nicely," I smile. "When's Pam coming?" I ask.

"Tomorrow," he says.

"Poor thing," I say. She's been flying back and forth even more than Eric lately. "Maybe I should contact a realtor, I muse."

"Where are you looking?"

"Hm. Uptown, or by the universities."

"Not by the universities."

"Why?"

"It doesn't quiet down at night."

"But I would love to be that close to the park."

"Not the garden district then?"

"Oo, maybe Inge will rent out the _carriage house_," I tease.

"That's an idea, though," he says thoughtfully.

I give him a sharp look. I can't imagine he would want me renting from his grandmother. He'd never visit me, for starters.

"Not hers," he clarifies. "But something similar in that area maybe? It could be nice. Like a little cottage."

"I am _excessively_ fond of a cottage," I say, quoting Jane Austen. That quote has always stuck out to me, despite that it was uttered with a certain snide air on the subject of a mere cottage in general. In point of fact, I _am_ excessively fond of a cottage, and I quite consider Gran's house to fit the bill; more or less rural, not large, and quite cosy. I guess Eric just means the small and the cosy though.

"I am sure your friend Patti would know of anywhere suitable."

Well that's just the limit. "Eric, I find your suggestion helpful but peculiar. I didn't have the impression you were wholly enthusiastic about my striking up a friendship with Patti Parker."

"Oh, I'm not. More accurately, I am not wholly enthusiastic about _her_ interest in _you_, and evidently with good reason." I had finally filled him in on the full details of the Hestia scheme on the phone a few days ago. "But equally, if nor more so, I hope you'll settle in a good, safe area, and she might be able to help with that. And we know how much she likes to _help_."

"It's a thought, I suppose."

"A good one. It is a square peg, square hole situation."

"We'll see," I say. I feel like he's being a little bit contradictory there. Also, he plainly has an opinion on where I live, and I'm not sure if I like that or not. "This isn't like a 'you won't want to visit if I don't choose a classy neighbourhood' thing, is it?" I ask, letting myself sound sceptical. I'm thinking of Bill. Or possibly Robert Ferrars. Come to think of it, there's a bit of similarity there.

He stares at me. "No," he says flatly. "This is an 'I don't want you to be accosted again when you're out after dark' thing."

"Oh," I say, deflating. Oh right. This isn't Bill. This is Eric. I sigh at myself.

"So, the Garden District or parts of Uptown are good. Lakeview too maybe."

"Lakeview is too far and too...housey" I say.

"Housey?" he repeats.

"It's too new and it lacks charm. Too many houses without enough other things. It's like the suburbs."

"I see."

After that he continued to read his hated newspaper. The little huffs and crinkles he made whenever he came across something he disliked were endearing. I was pretty distracted by him. I was going to call Amelia and ask her to recommend me a realtor or a renting agent. We finished our breakfast and I started to gather up my things, moving hastily since it was after ten-thirty now and we had to be out of here PDQ.

Eric took our luggage to my car while I checked out. When I found him in the garage he was already waiting in the passenger seat. I brought us the short drive over to his hotel and once we arrived, he carried the bags for us again.

"You're being particularly boyfriendy today," I observe, once we hit the elevators. We'd stopped at the desk and said hello to Rick and Trudy, who were both on duty that morning. He got a keycard for me when he got a new one for himself. It didn't really feel like a 'key to his place' since of course, it would expire, but as this sort of _was_ his place, it was sort of something. I'd only borrowed his before, when I had to come back here alone from the hospital. He grins down at my remark, shrugging is shoulders. It's just his prerogative I guess.

We arrived at his room and set ourselves up. I'd brought the newspaper with me, so I took it and sat down on one of the couches and left him to get started on whatever it was he had to get started on with his laptop.

"When are you going to lunch?" he asks over his shoulder once we'd been sitting in our respective corners for about twenty minutes.

"Probably another half an hour, why?"

"I need to make some phone calls," he says.

"And they're confidential," I supply.

"Yes."

I grabbed my purse and folded my newspaper into it, and walked over and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Alright," I say. "How long should I stay away?" I ask.

"I'm sure I'll be done in a couple of hours, for today anyway."

"Okay, I'll call when I'm on my way back then," I suggest.

"That's great, thank you." He kisses me. "I'll see you later." I smile at him and leave. This is not a very practical arrangement. It occurs to me that I should have kept my own room, but our mutual desire to be around each other had won out against the sensible option. I think we're going to need to be a bit more careful about this sort of thing in the future. I don't want him sitting there annoyed that he can't do his work, any more than I want to be straining to find things to do with myself out of earshot whenever he needs to be busy. Today at least, I had something to do. I drove around and looked in at neighbourhoods. I know that drive-bys are a pretty superficial examination, but my rationale was that people who kept their houses looking nice are probably good people to live around. Also it wouldn't hurt to refresh myself on the street names. So that's what I did for about forty minutes until I headed over to Arlene's. I was a little early, but she didn't mind.

Arlene and her husband lived in an area that was broadly considered the Garden District, but their actual neighbourhood was more the outskirts. Their house was a lot more modest than mansions like Inge Northman's. It was still nice, but it was a little newer; built in the style of the larger homes, on a smaller scale. She lived on a cute little street full of cute little homes of the same mode. Arlene's husband, Whit, did something in banking. She did not work outside the home. Amelia had always thought this was absurd, since she was college educated. I reserved my judgment. Some people are just traditional. Her husband could afford their style of living, and this is what they wanted, and real soon she'd have a child to tend as well as their house (which incidentally, was spick-and-span inside and out).

After hugs and kisses we sat down to the fairly elaborate lunch she's prepared. She started right in telling me all about this mommy blog she'd been reading and that the chicken dish as well as the bulgur wheat salad we were enjoying were recipes she'd gotten from it.

"How's Whit settling into the idea of fatherhood?" I ask her, after a lapse.

"I don't think he's quite there yet. He's still real surprised whenever he notices or is reminded, but then he's immediately sweet about it. He's reading one of the books," she ends with a small smile.

"I think I've heard it said that it doesn't hit a lot of men until the baby actually gets here."

"It'll hit him long before then I think. Maybe literally if I turn around too quick! I'm really starting to show now, I guess. They say that's normal. I'm at eighteen weeks."

"Is that the normal time that it starts to show?"

"I think it's a little different for everyone. My hips are already big, so, maybe I held off longer than some." I roll my eyes at her when she says this. Arlene can't be bigger than a size six on a bad day. I'm the size ten in the room, thank you.

"My brother's having a baby," I confide. "They're getting married on the Fourth of July."

"Oh that's wonderful!" she squeals. The nice part is that I know she's truly excited for people who are more or less perfect strangers to her.

"Is she online, his wife? I can tell her all the good things to read."

I grin, and promise her I'll give Crystal her contact info, but with a warning that I'm not sure how active she is online, and not to be offended if she doesn't get in touch. Plus, she's mainly focusing on the wedding right now.

"And you're going to be a bridesmaid again?" she asks. I'd been a bridesmaid in her wedding to Whit, along with Tara, Amelia, and three other girls. She'd had the big white wedding with the big wedding party and all the hoopla. They'd gone the whole hog. I suppose you could say Crystal and Jason were too, if they went ahead with the pig roast idea. We chatted about the wedding, and how it was going to be a pretty down-home affair. She asked me, in a way that she probably considered very tactful, if I'd be okay not having a date.

"Oh," I say laughing, "I'll have a date, don't worry about me." And then I immediately wish I hadn't said that, because now she's going to prod about Eric, and if it gets back to Tara, that could be bad. But mustn't she already know? I mean David's seen me with Eric twice now, and the second time at the funeral could definitely not be excused by me just being a 'friend in town visiting'. Oh dear. I should probably ask Eric about this.

"Really? You're dating again already?"

"I am," I say smiling. I can feel that I'm pinking up. Please, please, take it for my being bashful and not flustered. "But it's progressing slowly, so don't ask me anything. Suffice to say, he's a dreamboat."

"Ooo a dreamboat is he?"

"Oh yes. Also a hunk. And maybe a cutie-pie. Most of the time."

"Aw, Sookie, I'm glad. We were so worried about you," she says with real concern.

"Well, don't be. For the first time in, even before the break up I guess, everything in my world is good, good, good," I smile at her. She gets up and gives me a hug, and I hug her back.

After that we started talking about the new job and where I was going to live. She had all sorts of ideas about that, but when I told her I was going to rent, not buy, she came up a lot shorter. She called her realtor's office while I was there to ask if they did anything with rentals. They didn't, but I thanked her just the same, for trying. She brought out her baby name book after we'd cleared the lunch dishes, and I was quite amused to see that she had it annotated with coloured tabs and sticky notes in blue, pink, and yellow. After five minutes spent comparing the virtues of Aidin, Aedyn, and Aydan, I finally admitted that I didn't care for the name, at which point she agreed and removed all the notes and the blue paperclip that had marked the page. She didn't really care for it either, she declared. I was amused.

I was happy to linger and see her plans for the nursery and view the latest sonogram and hear about Whit's horrible secretary and her prenatal pilates class. By four-thirty though, we were back in the kitchen and she was ready to get started on dinner so I knew it was time to go. We agreed to not go so long without seeing each other and I promised to call her when I was in town next week. I left to my car but called Amelia to see if she had a recommendation for someone to help me find an apartment, while it was fresh in my mind. She gave me two numbers immediately, assuring me that they were both women she'd dealt with personally. One of them was from her WE group. I didn't want to sit in Arlene's driveway, so I said goodbye and drove back to the hotel. I called the ladies that Amelia had referenced but only one of them was able to meet with me tomorrow, so I set the appointment. I might as well get started. Then I called Eric and let him know that I was downstairs, and he said to come up. He met me at the door.

"How was lunch?" he asks, giving me a kiss.

"It was nice. She's got the whole housewife thing down, it's kind of mesmerizing."

"Interesting vocation. I thought she went to school with you?" Yeah, Eric and Amelia are going to get along famously.

"She did, history major. She toed the line with her GPA too, but she just likes being a wife and being married and tending to her man and such. She's eager to be a mommy."

"Hm," he says, and his expression reads as though the idea of being content in that life is utterly incomprehensible to him.

"Well, it's alright for some," I shrug.

"It will be good for her children," he allows.

"Oh yeah, she'll be a fabulous mom. I've got all sorts of stuff to feed to Crystal on the subject," I say, holding up my phone and giving it a little wiggle. I'd used my new notepad app to record the various books and articles that Arlene had recommended.

"I'm sorry for chasing you out earlier," he says. "I realized about ten minutes after you left that it was rude."

"It was fine, I had things to keep me busy, but, yes, we didn't really think that through. I should have just brought you straight here from the airport and gone back to my room."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Maybe not. At the risk of offending you, I don't particularly want to stay here when you're working in future, and I don't think you want me here either."

"It's not that I don't want you here," he says quickly.

"Right, but you can't work when I'm here, and you need to work right now. Don't worry, I get it," I say, giving his chest an affectionate little pat. "But actually, speaking of things that people can't say in front of people..."

I glance at him to make sure I have his attention. I do. "Do you know what the deal is with David and Tara? I don't know if you talk to him like that, but I've been avoiding her for weeks now. The only time I've talked to her was when she called after I got hurt and it was brief. Do they know that you know that they planned to undermine you in the merger? Because I didn't want to tell Arlene that I was dating you in case it got back to Tara but then David already knows about us and I just don't know if I should tell her, if she'll know I told you about what she said and then maybe they'll change their plans to screw you over even worse," I finish. I'd gotten progressively more agitated throughout that little speech.

He could see it. He puts his hands on my shoulders. "Breathe," he orders. I take a deep breath, as instructed. "Please feel free to tell your friends you are dating me. I've met Tara. She joined David and I for a lunch a couple of weeks ago."

"You've met Tara? Why didn't you say anything? So she already knows I'm seeing you? Does she know I told you?"

"She knows we're seeing each other, yes. I don't know why I didn't mention it, it just didn't come up. Do you normally talk to her a lot?"

"No, not really. I probably would have called her to tell her about my job and that I'm looking for an apartment down here now though, since I know she is too. She called once since that last time I spoke to her, and I missed it because I was teaching, but I didn't call her back."

"Well, she's probably very busy with work too."

"Probably," I scoff. "Busy trying to do devious business in your general direction."

"Something like that, I'm sure," he chuckles.

"I'm not really missing her to be honest. I was pretty put off by that whole thing. And then I haven't wanted to talk to her also because I know she's getting fired."

"Well, perhaps she won't now."

"What do you mean?"

"It's only Pam and I who are aware of her indiscretion. We won't be there anymore. So if she were to get fired, or downsized, or however you'd like to say it, at some time in the future, it has nothing to do with what she disclosed or what you told."

I breathed out a sigh, and realized it was a sigh of relief. "That actually makes me feel a little better about the whole thing."

"I'm sure once it's all over you'll strike back up with her. You are... how is it? _Sisters for life_?" he adds a bit of his mocking tone at the end.

"That sounds like we're zealous antiabortionists when you say it like that."

"Are you pro-life?" he asks.

Rapid subject change there. I pause for a moment before saying, "I don't think I could ever do that, but that would be my choice."

He nods. "That's good."

"You?" I ask. After his night of drunken ramblings I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but I might as well confirm.

"The same, about the choice."

"Well, distraction accomplished. Well done," I say, breathing out the rest of my tension on the whole subject of Tara.

"It's a skill I have. So, what shall we do tonight?"

"I don't know, I'm meeting with the rental agent tomorrow morning, so nothing too late."

"That's fine, I have a conference call in the morning anyway, and then at some point Pam is coming in. Maybe you can have lunch with her before you go over to Cataliades."

"That would be nice," I agree. "Tonight though?"

"I don't know. Do you feel like going out?"

"Sure. Nowhere too fancy though," I clarify.

We ended up at a little café in the French Quarter that was garishly decorated in an explosion of chintz and extreme floridity. I ordered a sandwich and Eric ordered a three course meal. He'd skipped lunch. We found ourselves continuing on in the same bent as our earlier impromptu pro-life/pro-choice conversation. That is, a talk of more substance.

I learned that he was registered to vote as an independent, and had nothing nice to say about any of the political parties. He claimed to be an agnostic, because he said God wasn't something he was really raised with, nor ever really thought about. He listened with interest when I talked about my faith, and wasn't condescending. He was a fan of Ayn Rand's, which didn't exactly surprise me. He clarified that it was more in the sense of 'wouldn't it be nice if the world worked this way, but it doesn't.' He read a lot of popular mysteries and crime novels. He had never had a pet. He supported gay marriage. He didn't own a gun. He always carried a penknife. I asked him to show me, and handed over a slim little Swiss Army Knife. I asked him why he carried it, and he just shrugged and said it was always useful, and then took it back.

It was nice to be able to discuss some deeper more important things, and nicer still to find nothing really objectionable in the conversation. He said nothing to offend, and nothing that I had to tell myself I could just ignore. We were alike in some ways and different in others. The way he talked about his views and convictions was pleasing. He was thoughtful. He gave things their due consideration. It was a good to have the tête-à-tête. It made me like him all the more. Part of me said this was perilous, that I should strive to keep it light and not get too attached to him. I told that part of me to shut up. I was enjoying myself and enjoying him, and that was fine.

The next day I met with my rental agent who was extremely tall for a woman, and gorgeous with a winning smile, dark hair and dark eyes. She introduced herself as Claudine Crane. She gave me her business card with her picture on it. It looked like the photograph could have been taken today. She was friendly and she brought me coffee. We settled down to chatting for almost an hour about what I was looking for, where I was looking, what I could afford, why I was moving, what I liked about New Orleans, what my plans for the future were. I felt like it was a good approach. She was getting to know me, and that would help her to find the right place for me.

I found myself signing a contract with her without any hesitation. I'd pay her commission, which would be equal to my firth month's rent. She pulled up a few listings to show me and was patient as I told her what I liked and didn't like. I mentioned Eric's idea of a guest house or a carriage house, and she agreed that would be just darling. I was open to the idea of a small house or an apartment in a house, provided it had its own entry and parking, or a duplex. Anything renovated would be great, but I wasn't really interested in living in some box in some big new building. She made extensive notes on her little tablet. She showed me the spreadsheet she worked with. It rated features that I had to have, would like to have, definitely didn't want, or was indifferent to. She was very pleased with me for being a non-smoker who didn't own a dog or a cat. That would apparently make her work a lot easier.

We made an appointment to visit places the following Monday at noon. She explained that this time was optimal because it would give her a chance to go through any new listings from the weekend, and that's when a lot of new listings came out. I told her I was quite appetent about being situated down here, and she nodded her understanding. She liked that too, naturally. Finding me a place quickly would put money in her pocket all the faster. I was a little taken aback when I realized that she was not personally fond of Amelia.

"Don't get me wrong, her properties are excellent," she said hurriedly. "My tenants have been only too pleased."

"She recommended you very highly," I said awkwardly.

"Yes, she would do," she said coolly. It was the least friendly thing I'd heard her say, so I tried to get off the topic quickly.

I was there for a long while before returning to the hotel. Eric was dressing and talking on the phone when I got back so I gave him a little wave and closed the door to the bedroom to give him privacy.

"No, four weeks. I don't care. This is exactly what we planned at a quicker pace. There is no reason this can't happen but your dragging your feet. Stop being a coward and stand up to him."

That's all I caught. I regretted hearing it, and tried not to think about it. It sounded like he was intimidating someone. Right, trying not to think about it. Eric emerged a few minutes later looking foxy as usual. He gave a jaunty turn and I got up and pretended to inspect him. Hey, I wasn't going to turn down the chance to check out his posterior up close. He left not long after and I called down to leave a message for Pam to call me when she got in. She did one better, arriving at Eric's suite half an hour later. Despite her usual immaculate appearance, she complained of feeling haggard and careworn. We headed down to pep her up with a light lunch around the corner.

"You are heading home tonight?" she asks. We'd gotten our drinks and were just waiting on our food. We both had iced tea. Mine was sweet and hers was Long Island.

"Hm. I guess I am. I'm out of clothes," I grin.

"You should pack more," she observes. "So, you meet with your lawyer when?"

Checking my cell phone I say, "About ninety minutes. I'll walk back with you after this and get my car."

"Then here is to you, and to moving forward," she says, lifting her glass to me and taking a long draught. "Oh, that's dangerously tasty," she says, breathing a sigh.

I smirk. "I'll have something tonight."

I sat there for a moment pondering my drink and then looked over at Pam. She wore a cream coloured blouse and a smooth taupe skirt. Her hair was pulled up elegantly to show off diamond earrings and a chic gold pendant. She wore what I knew to be a watch, but which more resembled a braided bracelet.

"Pam, you know a little about jewellery, yes?"

"I suppose, since I buy my own. Why?"

I reached into my purse and pulled out the ring box. I'd brought it with me since I was going to the lawyer's office. I didn't know if they would want to see it. I had the original deed and Bill's letter with me too.

Setting the box on the table I asked, "Any idea what I can do with this?"

She picked it up and opened it without any fanfare. "I suppose you're looking for a real answer, not something snappy like 'fund a coup in a small third world country,'" she says, removing the ring from its box to get a better look.

"I appreciate your snappy remarks very much, but yes, I'm looking for a real answer."

"Have you had it appraised?"

"No. I don't know where to go, I was going to go with Amelia but she is busy with dating."

"Oh yes, I just hate when people are busy with dating. Like when they take phone calls from their girlfriends instead of going to meetings, or disappear to some love shack in the boondocks for days on end," she starts, smirking.

"Pam," I try to interrupt but she is undeterred.

"Or have weekday sleepovers, or don't answer urgent emails because they're having shower sex..."

"You know way too much about our private life," I say flatly.

"Yes. Yes I do," she pauses then puts the ring back in its box and moves it back over to me. "Put that away," she scolds. She picks up her phone again and starts thumbing it furiously. "There, I've sent you the place I used when I had to have an antique ring resized. They can do an appraisal for you. I'm not sure if they buy stones, but likely they can point you in the right direction."

I hear my phone chime in confirmation that she's sent me the contact. I shake my head in astonishment. "How do you just have these contacts for everything?"

"It's called the internet, Sookie. I think you have a copy in there," she nods toward my phone.

"Oh really?" I ask, flush with sarcasm. "No, I just meant, I wouldn't have known which jeweller to choose, you just seem to have a go-to for everything."

"It's both my nature and my job," she shrugs.

"Thanks then, I'll call them."

Our lunchtime palaver consisted mainly of her sharp-tongued vilifying of every person she had interacted with throughout her morning of travel. She really seemed to have something against stewardesses. I felt like that might be a direct result of her travelling with Eric fairly often. He seemed to command their attention to the exclusion of others. We leave the restaurant and walk back toward the hotel. She gives me a rather awkward pat on the shoulder before we part ways.

"Let us assume I have said something encouraging and supportive. Good luck."

I chuckle at that. "Thanks, Pam."

I arrive at the office of Desmond Cataliades and the receptionist greets me with a warm smile, offering me coffee or tea which I decline. Shortly after, I am lead into a dark, panelled office replete with a large desk, two leather guest chairs, and an entire wall full of law books. There was even one of those brass lamps with a green glass shade sitting on the desk. Mr. Cataliades stands and comes out behind his desk to shake my hand. He is a round man, about six foot and balding. His eyes were large and round as well, and despite the comfortable temperature in here, he seems to be perspiring slightly. His appearance does not really match his warm and sonorous voice. He wipes his hands with his handkerchief before offering one to me to shake. When I do, he clasps over my right hand with his left.

"It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Miss Stackhouse."

"And you, Mister Cataliades."

"Have a seat," he offers, releasing me and gesturing.

"We're just waiting for Simon Maimonides to arrive. I wanted to warn you that he will be accompanied by Lorena Ball, since Mister Compton himself obviously may not be present."

"I'm sorry?" I ask, tensing instantly.

"They wish to have their own witness to the signing of the documents."

I breathe out a heavy sigh. "I want to refuse to be in the same room as her."

The lawyer simply folds his hands in front of him. "Certainly you may. They will be inconvenienced, but it is they who are seeking this resolution. I am sure they would be willing to return another day."

"No. Let's just get this over with. She's not going to say anything to me in front of you or the other lawyer, right?"

"Were she my client, I would have advised her to remain silent."

We sat there and he explained to me what to expect in the meeting. I just had to listen and sign. We'd already been over the particulars. I heard all he said, but I was mostly just trying to steel myself for a confrontation I was absolutely not looking forward to. Mr. Cataliades knew exactly why, so once he finished, he was content to just leave me in silence for a few minutes until his receptionist buzzed in to let us know that the other party had arrived. He asked me if I was ready and I nodded, and followed him out of his office and through a corridor to a large room with a large table and many chairs positioned around it.

Lorena was seated. She was dressed in a dark suit with her hair upswept. Her face was made up and she wore jewellery. I would have said she looked like Pam, strikingly lovely and spotlessly assembled, except that the truculent expression that fixed to her face the second she saw me spoiled the whole effect. She looked mean and ugly and if someone could kill with a glare, I'd have been dead where I stood. I shifted my gaze away and struggled to keep my eyes on my lawyer and Bill's. The notary was also present, but she kept her eyes down the entire time. She was just here to listen and affix her little stamp.

We all five sat down, and there was some showing of presenting folders with documents between the lawyers. After that, it was a simple matter of exchanging the documents. I signed, Cataliades signed, Maimonides signed, and Lorena signed, the settlement forms, the affidavit. The settlement forms already bore Bill's signature. It was incredibly quick. And after that, I was presented with three separate bank cheques. One for my medical bills, one for ten thousand dollars, and one for twenty-two thousand six hundred dollars and thirty-eight cents; all the rent that I'd paid for our apartment for the past two years. Everyone stood, and the lawyers shook hands, and that was it. I poured myself a glass of water from the pitcher which had been thoughtfully placed on the table. Mr. Cataliades left to walk them out, and I stayed put.

"Are you well, Miss Stackhouse?" he asked kindly, upon his return.

"I am, Mister Cataliades, thank you," I assured him.

"You can feel free to take a few minutes if you like. I'm pleased I could help bring this matter to conclusion. I'm afraid I need to prepare for my next appointment."

"Thank you again, Mister Cataliades."

"Not at all, Miss Stackhouse."

He left me alone then, and I took a few more minutes to simply sit. I looked up the closest branch of my bank and left his office determined to make that my first stop. Of course, that had all been too easy, and of course, Lorena was waiting around in the little parking lot when I arrived. Simon Maimonides was nowhere to be seen. Of course. I saw her, but I ignored her. I walked toward my car, but she was in my proximity in a blink.

"Are you pleased with the prizes you won for his pity?" she sneered.

I said nothing, focusing my attention almost entirely on making sure the key to my car door was ready in my hand.

"You should have married him. Then you could have taken him for millions," she continues. "But I suppose that chicken feed we bought you off with is more money than a white trash little whore like you has ever seen."

"Excuse me," I said through gritted teeth. She'd gotten in front of me, blocking my way. She was trying to demand some response.

"He was with me the whole time, you know that?" Yes I do, I've heard it all before, thanks.

"I do. I hope you two will stay together for a long time now. Believe me when I say that you two deserve each other."

"I had him first. You didn't even know that, did you?" she demands. Thank you, Eric. Nothing she can say will shock me. "And I'll have him last," she proclaims, thrusting her left hand in front of my face. She wore an engagement ring. I found myself not caring if it was new or old.

I glanced at it, then up at her. "It's not as large as the one he bought for me," I say coolly. "Does yours say 'my one and only' too?"

"Bitch!" she hisses in outrage.

I shouldered past her. I guess it did. How unoriginal, Bill.

"I'm his wife. I've always been his wife. You are just some greedy little slut," she says to my retreating back.

I turned. "You divorced him while he was struggling with his start up and didn't turn up again until he'd sold it for a mint. Who's the greedy little slut here, Lorena?" That's right you cow. You're not the only one who's had a history lesson.

She looked like she was ready to launch herself at me so I quickly moved away from her and got in my car, slamming home the door lock. I didn't take time to buckle my seatbelt before I backed out of the space. I spared a look in my rear view mirror and caught the livid expression still painted on her face before I turned away. I breathed out. Good riddance. I drove to the bank and made my deposits. I returned to the hotel and packed my things. Eric wasn't there and neither was Pam.

I called him to let him know I was heading out. He wanted to know how the meeting went, and I told him. I told him that Lorena was there, and that she was nasty, but I didn't go into the details. He asked when I'd be back, and I told him I didn't need to be in town again until Monday. He suggested I just stay, but I hesitated.

"We need to figure this out, with the time we're spending together. I'm real fond of you, but like we said, my staying here as your guest while you need to be working twelve hours a day and I'm not is not a great option."

"Yeah. I know. You're right," he agrees. "Though you could do your school work, planning your curriculum. It's not like you have nothing to do with yourself."

"What are you doing this weekend?" I ask him.

"You?"

"Sounds good, I'll see you Saturday then?" I say quickly. This is a compromise I won't mind a bit.

"Alright, call me when you get home."

"I surely will. Go make bold and savvy business moves."

He chuckles. "I'm trying. Bye Sookie."

"Bye," I say, hanging up. I text Pam to let her know I'm leaving and will be back in a couple of days, as well. She likes being in the loop.

Back at home, my mailbox was full of bills and letters stating that my resume had been received. Well boo to you too, schools that didn't call me. I'm taken! I opened them anyway, once I got settled and had started a load of laundry. I sent Eric a text to tell him I was home and I got one back that told me he was still working. I had made the right decision in not staying.

The following day I got down to business about the wedding. To my great surprise, I found someone in Shreveport who was able to make the armadillo groom's cake. The woman I spoke with laughed herself silly when I asked for it. She said she hadn't made one for years, but would love to do another. I'd found her shop online and had seen pictures of some of her other cakes. Some of these people should really market themselves as fondant artists rather than bakers. It's pretty amazing what they can do.

The photographer was trickier. I searched online for photographers in Shreveport, Monroe, and anywhere in between. I looked at sample albums. I ignored any names that came up that didn't have a website. That's a profession where you just ought to have one. It was unprofessional not to, in this day and age. I had about nine tabs open by the time I was done, so I figured I'd try to eliminate some by calling to check their availability for a wedding and a reception out here on the Fourth of July. That brought my list down to three, though one of those warned me he charged a premium for the holiday. I gave myself a pat on the back. I told the ones who were available I'd contact them tonight or tomorrow after I'd consulted with the bride. I sent Crystal a message asking her if I could come by her and Jason's tonight after she got off work to show her the choices. She told me sure and come for dinner. Perfect!

I also called Herveaux and Son, the surveyors, while I was knocking things off my to-do list. The woman I spoke with was brusque but efficient. She asked me when I wanted them to come out for an initial assessment. I told her as soon as possible really, but that Monday and Tuesday were out. She suggested tomorrow and I said that would be just fine, thank you. I took a few minutes to let her know the state of the property. She said she'd leave some notes on the record.

That night, Jason provided me with my day-late celebratory drink to commemorate the official end of Bill. Crystal had one tiny sip of Jason's beer to join us and made a face, disagreeing with the taste. She easily eliminated one of the photographers I had to show her. I liked the tilt-shift shots he had in his album but she said they made everything look like toys. I started to explain that this was the point, but then I stopped myself. I just needed her to make a decision. I did not particularly care which she chose. We ate dinner and I told Jason about seeing the surveyor tomorrow, and that I'd be back in New Orleans for the weekend and the beginning of the week.

"Doncha get tired of that?" Jason asks.

"Tired of what?"

"Driving back and forth all the time."

"Yes," I groan. "I'm already tired of that, but it's not like I have a choice. I have to be there for meetings now. I just hope I can find an apartment next week. I have such high hopes for this rental lady."

"You gonna see about renting out Gran's, once you're settled?"

"I've told you, I want to keep it. I plan to be up here time and again. I like it up here."

"I was just thinking that maybe you changed your mind with all the hassle."

"It's down there where I've still got problems. The only hassle in regards to up here right now is trying to figure out what I'm going to do about the place next door."

"Yeah, that's a pickle. Maybe you could build houses there and sell it off by parts."

"I don't have that kind of money to invest, and even if I did, who would buy them?"

He's got no answer, so he tries something else. "You could set it up for a hunting club? And then sell memberships. There's deer all through those woods."

"I don't think I want strange hunters that close to Gran's." Yes, it was mine, but it would always be Gran's.

"You could build a..."

"Jas I don't have the money to build an anything out there."

"Well, then sell it."

"I guess I could try," I sigh. The thing I'm most afraid of is the tax bill. I still haven't received the bill of sale. I guess I'll have to get it appraised, too. I stared at my now empty beer bottle. "So much for toasting Bill goodbye."

"You'll figure it out, Sook," Jason assures me. I'm glad someone is confident.


	17. Waggle Dance

A/N: Crazy busy week, and difficult, setting it up to finish up chapter. Sorry about that. Also, new summary.

* * *

><p>I was up at dawn on Friday morning, determined to continue riding high on the train of gettin' things done. I drove out to the hospital and wrote them a check for my bill in full. I stopped by the office of the photographer Crystal had selected and paid down the deposit. We hadn't talked about the money in our little planning meeting last week, but I just went ahead and decided that this would be my gift to them. They already had a house. I didn't know if Crystal was planning on registering anywhere, but I figured that between them they already had everything they needed. This seemed like a good thing to do for them. When I called Maryelizabeth to tell her of all my good works she was pleased, and then tasked me with keeping an eye out for suitable locations for the wedding pictures. I agreed of course - not that I could really refuse. This would be more difficult than simply hiring the photographer. At least I had some more time to come up with this one.<p>

I headed back towards home but pulled over by the Loudermilk place (I was going to have to think of a new name for it) instead of turning in to my house. I left my car just off the road, sort of a landmark for whoever would be coming by. It turned out to be a genuine beefcake, and I don't throw that term around loosely. He was tall, though not quite as tall as Eric, and _very_ muscular with the tan that men who work outdoors can't help but adopt, even this early in the summer. He had shaggy black hair and dark green eyes. I might have been intimidated, if it weren't for his warm, easy smile. That, and the plastic clipboard he carried. It's hard to look threatening wielding a clipboard.

"Sookie Stackhouse?" he asked me. He'd parked his truck by mine and was heading over to me.

"That's me," I say, offering my hand to shake his.

"Alcide Herveaux," he introduces himself. Surely this is 'and Son.' He is checking me out just as surely as I'd checked him out. I pretend not to notice. "So you've just inherited this property?"

"Yes, more or less," I agree. "It's come to me unexpectedly. I've got the place next door. I guess what I need to know from you is what it might be fit for. There's a house up there, hasn't been lived in for a decade, so I'm curious if that can be spared. The property...well, I don't know how much you can tell me about it. It's mostly woods, I think. I haven't really had the chance to walk around back there much. If I end up selling it, I figure the information I get from you guys will only help with that."

"Connie said it's all overgrown around the house?"

"Yes."

"Well, I got some tools in the truck if needs be. Let's go take a look. You wanna ride with me?" I shrug my assent and follow him back the short distance to his truck. You can't see the house from the road. It's mostly because of the woods and the way the drive curves. It's not far, maybe a quarter of a mile from the road to the house, but I suppose that's something of a hike back if he ends up needing whatever he's got in the back of the truck. He gets the door for me and offers me a hand up in a very gentlemanly gesture.

"You live out here alone?" he asks as he backs his truck up and turns down the driveway. Why Mr. Herveaux, we're a ways up from the creek if you're going to be fishing.

"For now. I just got hired down in New Orleans, so I'm looking to get my ducks in a row up here," I answer.

"I get down there from time to time," he tells me. "Most of our work is up here."

"Jason mentioned you do some work for the Parish," I say.

"Jason Stackhouse, right," he says in recognition. "Knew I knew the name from somewhere. Brother?"

"My one and only," I grin.

"Seems like a good guy," he supplies. I can't imagine he knows Jason very well at all or I'd have met him before. He's just being polite.

He lets out a low whistle as the house comes into view. We'd rolled real slowly over the broken driveway. I didn't know if was for my benefit or his truck's, the way he avoided hitting the bumps at any speed. This was a nice truck. I wondered if he babied it the way Jason babied his. Of course it could have been just general caution.

"It's a damn shame when old family plots like this go to ruin," he comments once we pull up and hop down from the truck. He goes back to the truck bed and gets a sledgehammer out, hefting it easily in his massive grip. Holy God, that's a menacing. I back away a few steps, almost instinctively. He catches the movement and turns his head fully toward me with a lazy grin. Somehow that does little to reassure me. Rationally, I know he must have some perfectly valid use for it, but it's still a bit of a startling image. Or sexy. Maybe it was that. It was something, anyway. Chuckling, he walks over to the front porch and brings the hammer down with some force on the first few steps in turn, then tentatively steps up. He was just testing the strength of the wood.

He turns around and gives me a smirk. "What'd you think I was going to splatter you across the gravel?" He doesn't wait for an answer before moving slowly across the porch, testing the boards with loud thumps. He finds several that give way as he goes.

"Only for a second," I call over, faintly relieved.

I walk a few paces over to him, he's hunched down in front of the windows trying to peer inside. He seems to be aware of my proximity, either by hearing or he caught my reflection in the glass. "Don't come up," he warns, snapping around and holding his hand up.

I watch as he walks carefully back across the porch, stepping in a very particular pattern. "I'm on the crossbeams," he explains. "A lot of these planks won't hold any weight."

"You got keys to this place?" he asks.

Huh. "Actually no," I say.

He nods. "Well, you could call a locksmith, or I can just shoulder my way in when I need to get inside and board it up afterwards. I won't do that today. I'm gonna take a look around the back."

Not knowing what else to do with myself, I ended up following him. I was glad I'd worn jeans. He pushed back a lot of the overgrown vines and brush with ease and I found myself just squeezing through behind him. He pointed out things here and there that he could tell just at a glance would be issues that needed to be addressed if I planned on doing anything with the house.

He did his hammer trick with the short stair leading up to the back door. After it sunk through two of the steps successively he pushed sideways on the post and the whole small structure slumped over. The backdoor was warped in its frame as well. We walked through the overgrown yard a bit and he examined the two outbuildings with cursory interest. One was a garage. The other was a newer building, likely a guest house or servants quarter. This was a home that would have had slave quarters, back in the day. Maybe there were some mouldering piles of lumber somewhere out in the woods that stood as monument to that fact, but those buildings wouldn't have been constructed to stand the test of time.

"Well, I'll need to get out here for a full day to take in the main house," he concludes after our turn around the main part of the property. We were back in the driveway. "The land is a separate thing. I can do some measurements, take the gradient, that sort of thing, but if you have no immediate plants to clear it or to build here, that amounts to a lot of information you probably won't use and don't need to pay for. I'll take in the main yard which will be useful if you decide to do anything to the outbuildings, or put in a pool, something like that."

"A pool, huh?" I ask. A pool so far beyond the things this property needs...

"Well, people put in a lot of pools. Most of my work is not this glamorous."

"Glamorous!" I laugh out. "Oh yeah, this is the height of fashion down here."

"Hey, at one time it was," he says with sincerity. "Even in the decay you can see this was a great old house once, and unless there's something serious going on in the foundation or the load-bearing walls, there's no reason it couldn't be again some day."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yeah," he agrees, nodding. Then he shoots me his boyish smirk again. "I'm actually prohibited by law from lying to you. It wouldn't be cheap, but it should be doable. That's just an initial opinion of course," he finishes, sounding slightly more serious.

"Out of curiosity, I know it's not your field exactly, but when you say _not cheap_..."

"Oh, a hundred thousand worth of renovations, easily."

I grimaced. It's not a flattering look for me but I couldn't help myself.

"That's minimum. You could do a lot more. But, it's a historic property so I'm sure there are a lot of tax credits and stuff. That's normally what draws people to places like this nowadays."

"Is it?" I ask. I really have no idea what he means.

"Well yeah. Hm. I don't know if this home is in the state registry, I'd have to check back at the office, but there's no reason why it couldn't be if it's not already. Have you had a tax assessor out here yet?"

"No."

"Well, that's a call to make after I do my work. Anyway, you're looking at about sixteen hundred dollars for the building survey and the structural survey." I gave him a nod. From the research I'd done, I was prepared for anything up to two thousand. "From there, I'll be able to tell you where to start. Even if you're not sure what you intend to do right away, the information is useful to have if you decide to try and sell it or something. A lot of times the buyer requires it before closing anyway."

"Alright, can we make the appointment now?"

"Uh, no, you need to call the office for that. Here, I'll give you my number in case you have any questions," he says. He jots it down on the back of a business card and hands it to me.

"Thanks. What do I owe you for today?" I ask.

"Nothing. We do a lot of these consults. You'll pay me after I've done some work. Well, you'll pay the company," he clarifies.

"Alright then," I say, and I hold out my hand. "Well, it's been a pleasure to meet you Mister Herveaux, I'll be calling."

"I'll be seeing you then," he tells me. I wave him off as he gets back in his truck and walk back down the driveway he drove down. A hundred thousand dollars at minimum, yeesh. Well, I didn't have that much, even if I sold the ring. Walking back down the little lane towards the road it struck me again how pretty the trees were through here. I snapped another picture of the scene, this time taking care to frame the shot. Maybe it could work for the wedding pictures. Beneath a big old live oak? That could be very pretty.

I reached my car and drove it back home, and once I was there I decided to put pen to paper and brainstorm my summer programs a bit more. I was liking the history focus since in a way it softened the maths aspect without detracting from it. I figured logic puzzles and things were the fall back. They could be fun, but, day in day out for three weeks? There wasn't really anywhere you could take that. There wasn't a lot to build on and it would become repetitive. I grabbed the kitchen notebook which had last been used by me to record Eric's musings on his inheritance.

When I opened it up though, I found it had been Eric himself who had used it. He'd made notes on the prospect of moving back to New Orleans, of leaving Area Five. He had all sorts of things I had never considered, like having to go through the trouble of rolling over his pension and company stocks and a lot of things to address with his lawyer; the many circumstances of being an owner of something. There were things that were illegible, and things that were unintelligible. Some were just random musings on what he'd do once he started running the Northman Group. It felt odd to read his notes, even if they weren't especially private. I wondered if he'd be more open about his day to day work in the new position. I turned a few pages away.

My phone seemed very determined to distract me this afternoon. It chimed frequently with emails and text messages from friends and acquaintances. I felt like quite the popular girl. I guess Arlene had been doing some chatting and people were aware that I was around more. I heard from Amelia, who sent a message saying that we needed to catch up soon. I guess that meant that she had news of some sort, but she didn't elaborate, nor let me know when a good time to call her was. Eventually I gave up on trying to get anything done and started responding to all the messages. I had an email from Jade Chou asking me if I'd be in town next week. She wanted to get together for lunch, and asked me to give her a call. I thought that one over before I phoned her back to agree. From any angle, it couldn't do any harm. I knew nothing about Eric's plans regarding the merger, so there was nothing I could accidentally divulge, if that's why she was being chummy. If it wasn't, well, maybe I'd make a new friend. I liked her, and I respected her taste. We got along.

We agreed to meet on Tuesday. There was a Trustees Meeting at Peterson late in the afternoon that day. It would be my first faculty function. A possibly-but-hopefully-not awkward lunch was just the ticket to distract me from my nerves on that score. I'd still have Tuesday morning free in case Claudine and I didn't see everything we needed to on Monday, or maybe to do the business of signing lease agreements, if I totally lucked out. I could only be hopeful. In that light, I didn't bother trying to get back to work. Instead I paid my bills, made the appointment to have Alcide come back, and started repacking some boxes, separating out things I wanted to keep here and things I'd want to take with me.

The following afternoon I was back with Eric. We didn't have any specific plans so I tried to call Amelia to see if she'd like to get together. She politely declined, so Eric and I were left alone. We ended up spending most of the afternoon cuddled up on the couch just chatting. I told him about Jade's call and he seemed surprised without being disapproving.

"I imagine she's looking to make more friends here in town, if she'll be working here."

"_Will_ she be working here?" I ask.

"I believe so," he says.

"I hope she doesn't talk about her work," I say.

"She wouldn't," Eric says, with certainty. I know he respects Jade, even likes her on a personal level. (He'd compared her to me once, after all!) It's too bad he can't really afford to be friends with her himself. Huh. Maybe that explained in a nutshell why Eric didn't seem to have a lot of friends, given the distance he was forced to keep with most of the people he interacted with.

"Did your week end better than it started?" I ask him.

"It did," he inclines his head in a nod. "Peter Threadgill is getting more audacious. I think he'll be making his move in the next couple of weeks."

"Wouldn't it make more sense for him to wait until you're gone? Since you've got such a firm grip on things?"

"I don't think so actually. Even pushing me out earlier than I'd wished, Sophie Ann is going to need to stall things with Arkansas as my successor comes in. There will be a period of catch-up where nothing will move forward, and that's anticipated by all. But if Peter acts sooner rather than later, I just become a lame duck while the proverbial heads start to roll. He won't even need to manoeuvre around me after he takes over, because I'll just be a placeholder at that point."

"So how do you think he's going to do it?"

"Honestly? I think he'll do it at our AGM."

"AGM?"

"Annual General Meeting... it's when they elect the Board, and when they'll get official approval from shareholders about the merger, among other, lesser things. Normal business. He might wait until the reports from the second quarter come out, but he's got a flare for the dramatic, and he's cocksure. I'd bet on the general meeting, since he's been going after board members directly."

"So you're, what? Gonna scoop him at the AGM?" I grin. It sounds like such sneaky business. Maybe cause that's exactly what it is.

"We'll see."

"Will we? Do I get to come watch you pull the rug out from under him?"

He chuckles. "Would you want to?"

"It could be fun to see you in action."

"It would be interesting to show you. I don't know if you'd want to be there. Lorena Ball will be. Compton too, if he sorts out his criminal charges in time."

"Psh. She won't keep me away. What's she going to do, call me a white trash see-you-next-Tuesday in front of dozens of people?" I smirk. And yes, that's how I communicate that particular word, even when I'm quoting.

"Hundreds," he says, grinning, but it fades. "Wait, she called you a _what_?"

I shrugged. "Well, that's a bit of an amalgam. The c part she called me after I initially told the police on Bill. The white trash she called me on Wednesday. Along with a lot of other stuff," I tell him. Then replay some of the more choice phrases in my head again. "A _lot_ of other stuff."

"She's never been a pleasant person. Sometimes you want that. She had her uses," he says quickly, "But I'm a little surprised she's acting so unhinged."

"She really was. I'd pity her if it weren't for... Well, no. Maybe I could never pity her," I finish stiffly. Since there's no reply that he can really make to that, he just rubs my arm a little in a soothing gesture. "In any case, I think it could be fun to watch your endgame."

"Then, tentatively, you can come."

I smiled at that, pleased that Eric would let me witness his big send off. "Are you gonna gloat?" I grin.

"I don't think I'll need to."

"Do you ever feel bad? I mean it's his life's work."

"Not at all."

"Explain that?" I ask.

"He loses nothing but control. In fact, he'll come out of it a wealthier man. But most of all, he's trying to do the same thing to us, as I'm trying to do to him. So why should I have any scruples?"

"And you could never just... talk it out, or something?"

He laughs out loud at that, jostling me a little in the process. "I'm just imagining if any deal I've ever seen had been run with everyone's cards on the table. No. It couldn't work. It's not about playing nice, it's about the bottom line. Personal rapport, it's a tool. It's not something to trust in. There is no trust when it comes to this much money."

I made a face. "That sounds faintly awful."

He leans over to kiss my forehead. "I'm glad that you think so really, but for me, it is almost fun."

"How does he know your dad? Peter I mean." I ask idly. Eric's business dealings don't really explain the way the families seem to know each other, so I figure I might as well ask.

"Oh, they've known each other for ages I guess. Since school for them. There's a personal rivalry there. I almost went to work for David after college."

"Why didn't you?"

"Location, and compromise."

"How so?"

"Well you know when I finished that my father and grandfather both expected me to come and work for one of them."

"Yes," I agree.

"So Peter was my extreme opposite. Then when I ultimately took the job at Area Five, that was the middle ground."

"Poor Peter, he is always the pawn in your schemes," I smirk. Poor is really the last word you can use to describe Peter, in any sense. My tone conveys that.

"Well since he only offered me the job in the first place to spite my father...no."

I rolled my eyes and smiled. "Your whole world is very complicated. I think I would get tired of it."

"Do you?" he asks. He pulls away to look at me as he waits for his answer.

"Of course," I say. "I can't even imagine what it would be like to look at everyone you meet as some sort of chess piece."

"Most of them are."

"That's an ugly way to look at the world," I say.

"Every sphere has its players and its politics, Sookie. Social, professional...even in academia you are not isolated from this."

"I don't involve myself in all that," I say. Of course I know that even in schools there are politics and teachers are sometimes called upon to participate in pushing forward a collective agenda, or pushing back against one. I mean what I say though, I don't get into it. I'm there to teach. My interest is educating, and that's it.

He laughs again, and it comes across as harsh laughter to me. He stops himself when he sees my wounded expression. More kindly he says, "You are involved whether you wish to be or not." After a moment, "I thought perhaps that's why you were falling in with Mitz Pirrie and that set. I know you didn't want the leg up with work," he says quickly. "And I respect that. But socially of course, these are the grand dames."

"Are they?" I ask. "I mean I know they're society ladies, but I don't really have the measure of all that."

"Well, yes," he says, sounding a little sceptical. "And as you know, they don't just sit around playing bridge."

I shrug it off, literally. "They should try it. Gran was big for bridge."

"I figure your Gran was pretty much a grand dame within the sphere of Bon Temps."

"No," I say, shaking my head. "We have our own rich old families, even in Bon Temps. Gran was no Caroline Holliday or a Marcia Albanese. Just a well loved woman," I finish fondly.

He gives a little sigh seeing his comparison falls short. I gave him a little pat, for the effort. He'd been trying to pay her a compliment, I think, in his way. "But no, I'm not looking to climb the social ladder down here, or anywhere, really. They just seem like nice people, apart from the meddling of course."

"I can't decide if you're naïve or fortunate," he frowns.

"Fortunate," I say, poking his ribs.

"Hmm," he murmurs, with some finality. Then he pulls me closer to him even as he squirms at my tickling fingers. We stayed like that into the early part of the evening. Pam would have sneered had she caught us this way, being so blatantly cutesy and couple-y, but she was off doing her own things. Eric said he'd booked her into the spa again. The lazy Saturday is a welcome break for both of us, and I felt like I had one, despite having spent the morning driving down here. We went out dancing again that night and came home sweaty and exhausted and did a little more dancing in the shower together.

We went back to the explorer's society restaurant for brunch on Sunday, at Eric's suggestion. He asked for a menu when we were seated, and the coffee. He ended up ordering just the full breakfast anyway, and asked for beans on his toast. He ordered the same for me, without the beans. I raised an eyebrow at him, but he just shrugged with a grin and said he thought he'd try it. I figure he meant the beans and toast, not ordering for me. I'd ordered for him last time, after all. I haven't said much since we'd arrived. I'm very amused just watching him inhabit the space. Not just the way he'd patted the stuffed gazelle that was positioned between us at the table as we were seated, but the way he was both familiarizing himself with things, and being familiar. Obviously he liked it here. When the paper came, he split it up giving me the arts, local, and real estate sections.

"Are you sure you don't want arts? Less to grumble at in here," I say, trying to offer it back with a grin.

"I might as well know what they say," he explains.

"No diatribes," I tease.

"No cursing and no diatribes? Sookie, this is getting to be an awful lot of rules for the table."

"Don't forget no elbows," I say mildly.

He makes a point of leaning up in his chair and propping not one but both elbows on the table as he snaps open the business section, holding it up in front of him. I just stared at his defiance with a bland expression, which he can't see, of course.

"Eric Northman, were you raised in a barn?" I hiss, affecting a scandalized tone.

He peeks over the paper and glances at the gazelle, and then back to me, with a steady look. At that point we both cracked up.

"I feel like I should have a smoking pipe," he says, sitting back again. He rested his feet up on the wicker stool while we waited for our food.

"Maybe a tweed waistcoat?"

"I was thinking one of those khaki safari jackets with all the pockets."

"No, definitely the waistcoat."

"I'll have Pam call my tailor," he smirks. "And one of those big floppy dogs by the ottoman here," he speculates, still painting the scene in his head.

"Gonna have Pam pick one of those up too?"

"No, she'd bring me back something that fits in a purse. Or something that ends in 'oodle'. She is petty in that way." He says it fondly, and I can hear the smile in his voice though his face is obscured by the paper. "It's a thought though."

"Sending her on horrible errands? Has she been insubordinate?"

"Always. But no, maybe I could get a dog in a couple months. Once I am settled. I could run with it in the mornings," he pauses, thinking over his idea.

"What kind would you want? One of those big sheepdogs?"

"I don't know. Nothing too small though. The dog must fit the man."

"Won't you still be travelling fairly often though? What would you do with it?"

He sighs. Oops, I guess I took the wind out of his sails there. "I don't know. A kennel or something. Maybe I will just make all of our hotels pet-friendly. Or friendly to my pet, at least."

I chuckle. "It's a nice idea."

"Yes, we'll see, I suppose."

Our food arrived then and he ate with his usual gusto. He did not like the beans, so he ordered just a plain plate of toast when the waiter came by to check on us. I guess they're traditional, but not everyone likes them. Not me either, just to give an example. We lingered at the restaurant for a long time, and once we finally left we just walked around for a while. It was a lovely and uninterrupted day. It felt like a real treat.

On Monday at noon sharp I met Claudine Crane outside her office. She had a big cup of coffee for me, and I smiled as I realized that she'd remembered how I took it. Maybe she'd made a note in her tablet. I'd had time to work on my curriculum that morning after Eric and Pam left. Pam had joined us for breakfast and we had fun talking around her about tweed and poodles. She played along at being exasperated with the pair of us in a smiling way. We had chatted a bit about my forthcoming apartment hunt, which was a topic that interested both of them as either would be looking for themselves quite soon. If Ms. Crane worked out for me, she'd definitely be picking up two more clients. Claudine walked me over to her big luxury SUV. It was obviously more for the purpose of having space to transport her clients, than any off-road driving.

We had hits and misses. She had a long list for us to go through. One of the places, I just didn't like the look of, even from the outside. It was a small house and well kept but the houses around it were not. I knew instantly that I wasn't going to like it, but we met the landlord anyway and went inside and all the while I was unimpressed. As we got back in the car she asked me what I thought. I'd explained my initial impression and she chided me for not speaking up sooner.

"We don't have to see everything. If you know right away that something's not right, just say so."

"I didn't want to be rude," I smile at her apologetically. "I know you took care putting the list together."

"May I speak freely?" she asks. I nod at her to continue. "I'm working for you. I have no loyalty to these apartments and houses. It is more rude to waste your time, and mine, and the property owner's, touring a place that you already know you won't like. These are places, not people. You won't hurt their feelings if you don't like them."

"Alright," I agree with a nod.

It went a little smoother after that, and after a couple of other places I found I was able to more readily voice my likes and dislikes. Once the afternoon was wearing on we took a break and went over the remainder of her list. She had photos of most places, as well as the descriptions. I was able to eliminate two of them there and then. There were some listings which did not have photographs but sounded intriguing. One was from the internet, and the other was a private listing that had just come up that morning. We decided to check those out, since they were our wild cards. They could equally be gems or duds, and if the former, we wouldn't want to miss them. Gems, as it turned out. Well, the first one was an absolute gem. We never got around to seeing the second one.

We followed her satnav to the address, turning the corner off of a tree-lined street. The houses here seemed to be as guarded by the trees and landscaping as they were by the wrought iron fences. We turned into a short driveway and were met by the woman who presumably was the one Claudine had spoken with on the phone twenty minutes previous. I knew immediately that barring this being the site of some horrible triple murder, this was it. It had originally been the caretaker's home and was part of the same property as the large house we'd passed on the corner. It was cream coloured with dark shutters and slight hints of the Victorian style in the hipped roof and dormers and the overhanging eaves with subtle fretwork. It was modest by any standard, but I was very struck by the way it was nestled back among the trees that obscured it from the main house, and the surrounding houses. I loved the short driveway of paving stones that lead up to the blue front door. I can't even imagine the look of delight that must have been painted on my face.

"I think we'd like to see inside," Claudine said, almost chuckling.

It was small but well kept. I wouldn't need a lot of space, I reminded myself. The bottom floor was divided between a living room area and a large kitchen. There was not a lot of counter space, but room for a table, quite a lot like the kitchen at Gran's. Between the living room and kitchen were two doors. One was a powder room, the other was a laundry closet, with a washer and dryer stacked one on top of the other. That was a big plus. The other places we had seen only had the outlets and exhaust vents, and I'd have had to buy the appliances. I'd need a coat rack, there was no coat closet. The refrigerator was a no-frills plain white one, so it was hard to determine its age, but it was very clean when I peeked inside. The cabinets were a good size and there were probably more than enough of them to house my kitchen accoutrements. There was no dish washer, so I'd need a drying rack. The stove was amazing. It was footed, first of all, in the antique style, while being obviously new (it was way too clean, and also, it was electric). It had the standard four burners and a small stove with a warming cabinet on top and one to the side of the tiny oven. I examined it thoroughly.

"Do you like it?" the woman asked. She'd introduced herself as Madge outside. "I find this style so charming, but we just redid the kitchen inside very modern, and my decorator was not having it," she laughs.

"It's absolutely adorable," I confirm with a beaming smile. It is. Practical? No, but it's not like I'd be cooking Thanksgiving here, so it was really a non-issue.

I went up the single flight of stairs and found two bedrooms on either side of a short hall with a bathroom at the end. The bedrooms were equal sized and not large. My one thing with the bedrooms was that I wanted to get a California king-sized bed. Yes, I freely admit that it had something to do with Eric. However, I had also come to the conclusion, independently, that I enjoyed a big bed. Yes, certain very specific bedroom activities _with_ Eric had spoken to this decision, but it was still my own. I wanted it for me most of all, and that it would suit him as merely a big plus. So I asked about the previous beds that had been in here, because I was having trouble guesstimating whether or not such a mattress could fit up the stairs. At that point, Claudine produced a tape measure and started pacing through the hallway.

I wandered off into the bathroom which was tiled on the floor with one inch blue tiles, and tiled halfway up the walls with white rectangles, almost like bricks. The walls were white. There was a huge claw foot tub, and a separate, tiled shower stall that was tiny. There was a single pedestal sink, but a ceramic cup and toothbrush holder and a soap dish were affixed to the walls. The mirror over the sink was one of those push open cabinets. There were two simple sconces at either side of it. There was a single high half moon window above the tub, with a vent discretely beneath it.

"I love this," I said out loud. My voice echoed back at me from the empty walls. Claudine and Madge appeared in the bathroom doorway.

"Where do I sign?" I beamed at them.

"Well dear, come down and we will talk," says Madge.

A flicker of a frown crossed my face but I forced it away. I hoped she wasn't about to tell me I couldn't live here. She ended up telling me I couldn't live here _yet_. She wanted to do a credit and background check, and she wanted a reference from my last landlord. These were reasonable requests I figured. The background check was maybe a little odd, but I suppose since I was living on her personal property, it made sense. She had forms for me to fill out which were fairly extensive. I wished I had thought of getting a letter from Bill's and my old landlord ahead of time, that would slow this process down a bit. I tried to sound eager, rather than anxious, and stay positive. This was turning out to be a bit like an application and an interview.

She asked many questions about me, and I tried to keep up and ask some of her in kind. She wanted to know if I had pets. She told me a cat would be okay, if I ever wanted to get one. She explained what she called "her thoroughness" by the fact that she and her husband were not normally in New Orleans during the summer months apart from the odd week here and there. She told me that their old tenant had been a young professional man who had been free to use their patio in the summer months as well, in exchange for looking out for the property. As she explained it, this seemed to equate to no more than being a contact for their security company in case the alarm was tripped. That seemed fine to me. She casually asked if I anticipated any frequent overnight guests. I hope I managed to pull of demure as I admitted I had a steady beau.

She said I could drop off my reference at the front house any time this evening or tomorrow, and I found myself apologizing that I hadn't come prepared with it. Madge said she understood that it was a little old fashioned, but she felt assured by the personal recommendation. We shook hands as we left.

"Oh my God, I hope I get it!" I gushed, when Claudine and I were alone in her car.

"It's a lovely place," she observes.

"It's _perfect_," I say.

"It will be a tight squeeze getting your bed in."

"But doable?" I ask.

"Should be, if you angle it."

"Claudine, you are awesome for finding this."

She smiles over at me. "Tell your friends," she says with a wink.

"Oh, I will. My boyfriend and his assistant will be relocating back here within the next couple of months. I'll definitely push them your way."

"Thanks," she says. "So you can bring the letter to me and I'll drop it off first thing in the morning."

"You will? That's lovely."

"Yes. She's going to give me a copy of her lease agreement as well, so we can look over that while she's deciding. And I can do my professional curiosity thing to try to find out how many other people she's seeing about the place, which she might not want to tell you directly."

"I hope nobody."

"We'll act as quickly as we can, that place will go fast I think."

Claudine dropped me off at my car and I immediately called my old landlord and had a very awkward conversation wherein I explained that I was looking to rent a new apartment and really needed letter of reference ASAP. Of course, I had to talk about Bill a bit, when he, the landlord, had inquired how Mr. Compton was doing, and expressed concern that Seattle hadn't worked out for us. I said as succinctly as possible that it was only me that Seattle hadn't worked out for, and prayed he wouldn't push the point. He didn't. He agreed to write the letter and said I could pick it up in the morning. I wanted to demand he write it tonight, while I come sit and watch. I would ensure that he mentions that our rent was never late, not even once, and how I spent a full day after we'd completely moved out just cleaning the walls, floors, cabinets, and everything else. Hopefully he would cover those bases.

I spent the whole of Monday night filled with jittery anticipation. I was annoying to the point that Eric had to distract me with sex. Had to. He explained this was exactly what he was doing, so it wasn't sneaky or sly like Amelia had intimated. I appreciated the gesture. I do not think I would have fallen asleep if he had not exhausted me. I'd told him all about the little house and how it was perfect. He was pleased on my behalf. He asked how long the lease was, what utilities were included, if I would be getting renter's insurance. He thought it was great that the oven was cute, but was far more hung up on the practical things. I knew these were sensible concerns he was voicing, but it was a little deflating, and besides, this was why I had Claudine. I had to catch myself before getting mad at him when he innocently asked if I'd seen anything that might serve as a suitable second choice, in case this one didn't work out. It was shortly after that when I'd been carried to the bedroom.

I was up and out before Pam showed up on Tuesday morning and after thoroughly alarming my old landlord, I made it to Claudine's office by nine to drop the letter off. She assured me that she'd get a time-frame and be in touch as soon as she knew something.

Lunch with Jade Chou was interesting for a couple of reasons. The main one being that it turned into a lunch with Jade and Peter Threadgill. When I met her at the restaurant she had barely enough time to tell me that he'd more or less invited himself along. She shot me an apologetic little look as she explained that when she'd casually answered his question about her lunch plans he said it sounded great. This more or less put the kibosh on the girl-time I'd been hoping for. Jade seemed to tend towards silence when her boss was present. It didn't turn in to a particularly unpleasant hour, but there were more than a few uncomfortable moments.

"It's certainly nice to see you again under more pleasant circumstances, Miss Stackhouse," Peter says, once we were seated.

I nod my agreement.

"I must say I am surprised by the way things were handled with all that. I would have assumed that Sten's company would have gone to Viktor, him being in the same business," he continues.

"Mm. I don't think I know the family well enough to comment, but I believe Mister Northman had always hoped Eric would follow in his footsteps."

Peter barked out laughter at that point. "Yes, that is certainly true. I nearly swayed Eric to Arkansas at one point early in his career, you know. And now just before the merger he is snatched away, again, by a Northman," he said, almost ruefully.

"I know Eric is disappointed he has to give up his own work," I said carefully. "But he is too responsible to let the Northman Group fall by the wayside."

"Certainly, certainly," Peter acknowledged. "But it's more the pity. I've certainly enjoyed working with him throughout this little venture. The boy keeps me on my toes." Again with 'the boy,' I bristled inwardly.

"I'm sure it would flatter him to hear you say so," I agree.

"Eric tells me you've found a job down here?" Jade supplies.

I shoot her a grateful smile for the very timely subject change before turning to Peter. "Yes. And actually Mister Threadgill, in a roundabout way, I think I have you to thank for it."

"Is that so?" he asks intrigued.

I explained to him my new position at Peterson Academy. He seemed tickled that I'd managed to secure the job we'd spoken of so many weeks ago at dinner. We talked about some of the other schools in the city, comparing their virtues. He was impressed that I'd been offered a position at Hestia, one of the schools that had been considered for his daughter, Laura. I omitted the bit about how it hadn't really been a real offer.

"I understand you're acquainted with some of my recent acquisitions, as well?" Peter says.

Oh dear. "I'm sorry?" I ask, feigning ignorance.

"Bill Compton and Lorena Ball," he says, clarifying unnecessarily. "We've just brought them in to head up our software department."

"Yes, Bill is my former...well. Yes, I know them," I say, hoping to impress upon him with that simple statement that this is a sore subject.

"Of course Area Five was none too pleased to lose them," he goes on.

"Yes," I say, since I have nothing else to say. "This is really a lovely wine, is it from California?"

"No," Peter says. "Australia I believe?" he checks the bottle then nods his agreement. "Yes, New South Wales. Very crisp."

"Mm, perfect for a light meal, yes," I agree.

"Are you more or less fixed in town now, Sookie?" Jade asks.

"Not quite yet. I'm waiting to hear back about this little house I'd like to rent. It's tucked away in the Garden District, it's just perfect for me."

"I've considered whether or not to buy down here," Peter says.

"I imagine you'll have more use of a house, once the merger is complete," I say.

"Maybe a bit," he agrees. "I plan on installing David down here to oversee... well, he'll be here to act as my primary liaison," he says. That was probably a little bit of a slip up. For a moment he looks mildly uncomfortable, though I don't think he would have any idea that I'd pick up on it. "I'll still be centred in Little Rock in the main."

I see Jade's eyes widen momentarily, and I know that whatever he has just said surprised her as well. I don't know what to make of it, but I'll surely be telling Eric.

"I wish I could buy down here," Jade says. "The corporate apartments are very nice, but they are not really designed to feel like home, just more of a home than a hotel room."

After that we kept the conversation much lighter and far from the subject of their work. I was glad of it. It hadn't escaped me that Jade had been useful in steering us from the conversation's sensitive points. Peter paid the bill, which was nice of him. He had his car to carry him back to his office, and Jade and I were finally left alone for a few minutes.

"Well, that was not quite what I had planned," she said.

"He's certainly a lively dining companion," I chuckle.

"Perhaps we can try to do this again. It would be very nice to get to know some people down here."

"So you won't be going up to Seattle?"

"Oh, no. I will be here, on David's team."

"Well, it's a great city," I say. "Please do call, I'd love to try getting together another time, sans bosses."

She chuckled at that. We said our goodbyes and I headed over to Peterson. Since I didn't know anyone else, I found Headmaster Keeting in a small group and was introduced and shook hands with two other teachers and one trustee. The meeting was actually very boring. It was a lot to do with the school's finances and fundraising and certain planned events and large expenditures that would be made. I remained attentive, but it was a small struggle at points not to let my mind wander. The only part that was specifically relevant to me was the brief note that I had been hired as a full time faculty member, along with two other teachers, one along with me in the upper school, and one in the lower. Afterwards I hung around for a few minutes, making a point to meet some of the other trustees and parents. I was eager to get back to Eric and tell him about the lunch, and so I felt free to leave once I realized that most people were doing so. It had been two and a half hours of not very much interesting, but I had done my duty in being present and starting to meet people.

Eric wasn't in his room when I'd got back, so I shot him a message to ask when he'd be around. He didn't respond right away, so I gathered he was quite busy. I settled down with a book and found myself frowning at Lady Adalaide DuChamps. Her so-called quandary about the suitableness of Lord Astermarque was quite uninteresting. The guy was obviously a slimeball, handsome or not. I hoped her elderly grandfather would hurry up and die so that she would be free to defy her noble birth and marry Stefan, the royal messenger.

My phone buzzed, interrupting my romantic musings. I was expecting Eric, but it was Amelia.

"Hey Amelia," I answered.

"Hey Sookie," she said. She sounded upset, possibly like she'd been crying. "Are you in town?"

"Yes," I say, with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Could you... do you think you could come over? I could really use some company."

"Of course," I say. "Is everything alright? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Not really. I don't know."

"I'm coming right now," I tell her, and wait for her to acknowledge that before hanging up.

I was going to leave a message for Eric, but I wasn't sure what to tell him, so instead I left a note that simply said I was at Amelia's and would call him later on. When I arrived I went ahead and let myself in, calling out to her.

"In here," I heard her call, from her bedroom.

I paced down the short hallway and found her on her bed wrapped in a blanket. She looked like she might be sick, but I could also see I'd been right about the crying. I sat on the side of her bed.

"Amelia, what happened?"

"I'm being stupid," Amelia sighs.

"I'm sure you're not, but what is wrong?"

"Penny doesn't want to see me anymore. She told me last night," my friend laments.

"Oh, hun, it will be alright," I say. I lean over and rub her arm in a soothing gesture, but she shrugs me away.

"She said it just wasn't working out. I thought it was working out."

"What did she say?"

"She said she couldn't be with me because I've been with men. That she didn't want to get close to me, because she was always going to be afraid I'd leave her for a man. That every time we went out...she couldn't get over the idea that I was checking out guys. I don't think I was...maybe I was. I don't know, you notice attractive people, don't you?"

"Of course you do, that doesn't mean you're going to leave the one you're with," I console.

"She said she could never get serious with someone who is bi...and I haven't wanted to be serious with anyone ever really, since Tray..." Tray had been Amelia's boyfriend way back in high school. He had been older than her, college aged. Probably too old to have been dating a girl in high school, and he'd died. I know she loved him, as much as a seventeen or eighteen year old girl can be in love. I know this had something to do with the way she was never interested in settling to one person and that the times she had done so had been short lived. This even, with this girl, apparently Penny, had been short lived. This was about the time Amelia, in her normal course, would want to move on. I supposed the fact that she realized she hadn't wanted to, when Penny did, had hit her very hard.

"I'm so sorry, Amelia," I soothe.

"After we talked last night, I went out, and I went home with this guy named Derrick," she confesses. I felt my lips tighten. It was the best I could do not to frown at her. She wasn't looking me in the eye as she spoke, so maybe she didn't see. "He's called me twice today. I'm so not interested, he was just...comfort."

"Ah, Ames," I pulled her up and pulled her into a hug. "I wish you'd called me."

"I didn't know if you were with Eric, and I didn't...want...to see you. I know you're so happy and things are starting to go so well. And Lafayette too and even Tara. I just couldn't face that last night."

"You need to be with someone who's more secure. It hurt last night, and it hurts today, but it's for the best that this happened right now, and not much later. I know that's no consolation in this moment, but," I start to say.

"I know. I know. It just feels like crap right now. She seemed so perfect. We were having so much fun." I hear her voice start to tremble as she finishes.

"I know," I shush her. "It's okay to like someone. It will be okay."

I stayed with her, rocking her back and forth, until she decided to get up and get in the shower. She did cry. It's not something that I have seen very often in our long friendship, and it's not something that I've ever seen over someone she's been dating. I figured there was a lot more going on inside her head, reasons this had hit her so hard. I could only hope that she'd come out of it better. While she was in the bathroom I called Eric and told him I was going to stay here tonight. I'd planned on going home tomorrow, but I'd also brought some extra clothes since every time I was down here I ended up feeling the pull to stay a little longer for one reason or another. I'd go pick them up tomorrow. I didn't go into any detail with him. We said we'd talk later.

After we hung up, I went ahead and fixed some dinner for Amelia and I, just soup and sandwiches. She came out dressed in sweats and even that spoke to her mood, since she always had cute things, even in pyjamas. She looked worn out, and while I wanted to talk more, I just left it for now. I'd stay, and she'd talk when she was ready. We watched mindless reality television and she told me she was taking a personal day tomorrow. I offered to keep her company. We didn't stay up very late. I made up the bed in her guest room after she went to sleep. I debated sending an email to Lafayette to let him know what had happened. He'd want to know, but I ended up deciding it wasn't my news to tell. I fell asleep feeling lucky and sad.


	18. Smoking the Hive

I woke up before Amelia and took the liberty of having a shower before putting back on my clothes from the night before. She was barely awake when I told her I was heading to Eric's to pick up some things and would return in an hour with breakfast. I found him still getting ready when I arrived.

"Hey," he says warmly. "Is your friend okay?"

"Women troubles," I reply. I gave him a quick kiss and a squeeze before hopping up on the bed to watch him dress.

"Ah," he answers.

"Her new girlfriend decided she didn't want to be friends anymore, and this came as very unexpected news."

"Dumped?" he asks. That was a little harsh.

I pointed towards the blue shirt he held up for me to choose from, instead of the black. "I don't think it was just that. She is like you, she does not do these things," I say.

"I am doing this thing now," he asserts. Yes, good boy. Perfectly reformed.

"Yes," I smirk. "And you are doing this thing _very well_, as you do most everything else, _but_," I say, switching us back to Amelia, "She was ready to try, and that it didn't work out has hit her very hard. So she is getting a friend day."

"You were going to go home today, weren't you?"

"I think I should stay for her."

"Hm."

"I may give up and drag her back with me, depending on how she is doing by the afternoon. I am still eagerly awaiting word from Madge Batiment about the house so I can't quite decide if I want to go or wait."

"Margaret Batiment is who you're trying to rent from?"

"No, _Madge_. Madge Batiment," I say, stressing the name.

"Right, it's a nickname for Margaret, Madge."

"You know her?" I rattled off the address and he nods.

"You know her too."

"I do?"

"Well, I don't know if you were introduced. They were at the funeral. They have the daughter you saved me from hearing more about."

"That was her? I barely remember what she looked like. I met so many people that day..." I trail off, trying to no avail to recall the woman. She was with her husband too. I couldn't summon a clear picture of either one of them. "Do you think she recognized me?" I ask, suddenly panicked. "Oh my God Eric, she's not going to let me have that house now because you wouldn't date her daughter!"

He cocks his head, staring at me. "Do you want me to take out her daughter?" he asks with uncertainty.

"What?"

He shrugs it off, seemingly relieved that this is not what I meant. He shakes his head and then flashes me his smile.

"No I don't want you to take out her daughter," I say firmly. "You're mine. No daughter of Madge for you," I scold.

"She's called Eloise."

"I don't care if she's called Scarlett Johansson. No."

"If you're certain Sookie? I only wish to help." My brother has this great expression. Shit-eating grin. That is what he is wearing right now.

"Eric."

"Sookie?"

"No."

"Alright, Sookie," he says. He steps close to me and kisses me on the forehead. Pulling away he asks, "Sookie?"

"Yeah?"

"It's very hot when you are jealous this way."

I narrow my eyes at him. I'm not actually mad of course. He brings his hand to my jaw and tilts my chin up slightly. I hear him draw his breath in as he shifts closer to me and then he is kissing me. I feel him move, and suddenly my back is pressed to the bed. He pulls back slightly, his hair is falling forward to frame both of our faces. I am panting slightly as he withdraws from the kiss and he smirks.

"I have to go to work," he says, though not moving.

"Okay," I say, giving a tiny nod.

He stayed like that for a long moment, staring at me, until he finally rocks back on his shoulders drawing away. I catch him for another kiss and then break it off suddenly and pull away myself.

"I forgot to tell you!" I exclaim.

"Yes?"

"Peter Threadgill crashed my lunch date with Jade yesterday."

"Did he?" Eric frowns.

I explained to Eric as quickly as I could about what Peter had said about him and his father, and about David, and how Jade had looked surprised when he'd spoken of placing David here, and his remaining in Little Rock.

"I may say something to Jade," Eric says eventually. His phone starts buzzing in his pocket. Without even looking at it he says, "That is Pam. I need to go." He quickly ties his hair back and takes up his briefcase. I get one more kiss and he is gone, and so I hustle to get dressed and organized and get back to Amelia.

I do a totally heinous thing. While waiting my turn in line at the café, I called Claudine.

"Sookie, hello. I tried to call you in the evening yesterday."

"I'm sorry Claudine, I had a best friend emergency." By the time I'd seen her missed call, it was well after the close of business, so I hadn't called her back.

"Oh, is everything alright?" she asks.

"Yes, I just needed to be there for someone." I'm still not clear on the animosity between Amelia and Claudine. I'll try to raise the issue today but meanwhile I'm not going to bring Amelia's name up. Besides, Claudine is just being polite in the asking. It is of no consequence to her at all if random unspecified friend of mine is alright. "I was calling to find out how it went with Madge."

"Very well actually. I had the impression that she really liked you and was just going to proceed with the formality of her screening process. We should know by the end of the week."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness."

"Why, what's the matter?"

"It's just a funny coincidence. She had wanted to set my boyfriend up with her daughter, I don't think it was a very serious attempt, but he recognized her name. I got all nervous that she would hate me for being the reason he didn't take her up on it."

"Really? Who is your boyfriend?"

"Uhm, his name is Eric Northman."

"The hotel heir?" I pulled the phone away from my ear for a moment so I could aim my look of disbelief at something. Why would she know who Eric is?

"Uh, yeah. I guess he is."

"Wow," she says.

"Right... anyway, so you think it seems likely I'll get that place?"

"Oh yes. And I've had a look over her lease agreement, and it's completely standard. First, last, security. Heat, electric, and water are covered. One thing we did not think to ask about on Tuesday was the central air, and they do have it so that will be a blessing in another month or so. Cable and internet, you would have to set these up, but the place is already wired."

"It's still sounding perfect," I assure her.

"Good, then I'll call you as soon as I hear back from her."

I thank Claudine and hang up just as my turn to place my order comes up. I was sure glad I didn't have to make the girl at the counter wait for me, nor the people who'd come in behind me. I make it back to Amelia's carrying my parcel of half a dozen beignets, two egg-white sandwiches on wheat toast, and two cups of still steaming coffee.

"I don't even know what to do with myself today," she complains, taking a big powdered-sugary bite of her pastry.

"I do. You're coming with me to get my ring appraised. Then we're going to the movies and watching something with a happy ending."

"You have it here?" she asks, surprised.

I nodded toward my purse, which was closer to her, so she slid it over to me. I gave her the box.

"Holy shit, Lafayette wasn't kidding," she says.

I smirked, even without having a clue what Lafayette would have relayed about the ring. "Yup. Could you ever see me wearing something like that?"

"Uh, no, not really."

After breakfast I called Pam's jeweller to ask if I could come in for an appraisal, and he said it would be no problem for me to stop in any time this morning. The shop turned out to be a very small one, specializing in estate jewellery and repair and sizing work. It was fascinating, and not only because the display cases were filled with very unique pieces. It was clearly more of a jeweller's shop than simply a jewellery store. There was a large microscope set up on one end of the counter and all manner of... well, doodads, around the place. Some were antique tools, finely wrought things in their own rights, but most of the ones situated in arm's reach looked to be in use. I introduced myself to the older gentleman at the counter.

"Hello, I'm Sookie Stackhouse, I think we spoke on the phone a bit ago?" I offer my hand.

The man shakes it with a warm smile. He seems to fit in to the surroundings quite perfectly, having a rather refined look about him. His hair is blonde going to white, and though he is obviously aged, the lines in his skin are quite fine. Not the deep wrinkles you might normally see in someone the age of a grandfather, which he clearly was, but rather very thin, spider web traces across his hands and his brow. If he were a women, I'd say he was a model for aging gracefully. Since that's not the sort of thing one really expects in a man, his look was rather odd. He seemed kind enough. He introduces himself as Niall Brigant, owner and proprietor.

"I understand you have a ring you are looking to have appraised?"

"Yes," I agree.

He gestures me to the counter and lays out a black cloth, and takes his own seat on the opposite side. I take the ring box out of my purse and Amelia pats my shoulder to indicate that she was going to move away and browse. I nod to her and turn my attention back to Mr. Brigant.

"Now, will this be for insurance purposes or will you be looking to sell this piece?" He asks, what I presume is, the routine question as he leans to the side and retrieves a magnifying glass and a sort of visor thing with glasses and a flashlight attached. He fixes them to his face and pops the light on.

"I would like to sell it," I say firmly. "It is nothing I want." He'll open the box and see it's an engagement ring in about a second and hopefully that comment will make perfect sense.

I watch as he flips open the little box, giving a small gasp as he does so.

"Oh, that is quite something, isn't it?" he asks. It seems like a rhetorical question so I don't answer.

Moving with an air of formality he removes the ring from its box and begins to examine it. It sparkles quite a bit when he turns his little light on it.

"Ah, that's unfortunate," he remarks, as he catches sight of the engraving. I smirk, but he is so involved with the ring that he doesn't notice it. He gets out his little cone-cup magnifying tool and sets it down.

"Do you have the certificate for this stone?" he asks.

"I don't, no."

"You will want to get this certified before you attempt to sell it. Without the certification, you will be robbed. The fee for this is five hundred dollars. There is a contract I have for this. The stone is shipped overnight and insured of course, to the laboratory, and then it is about two weeks for them to complete the certification process and return it. We will need to unmount the stone from its setting, of course."

"And that's worth it, in your opinion? Worth the cost I mean. I am not sure how to go about selling it."

He turns his head up from the ring, and so I am looking at his eyes through the magnification lenses. It is impossible to miss, therefore, the very stern look he is giving me.

"Yes. The certification fee is a very tiny fraction of the value of a stone of this size and quality. I could offer a very low estimate of fifty thousand per carat weight, and that is just based on what I see before me, which is no visible flaws and very good cut and colour. The retail value or insurance value will have been much higher, you understand. The certification will provide a scientific grading which you can carry with you to a wholesaler, and the fact that the stone is already certified can carry directly into the sale price you negotiate, as that becomes a cost and inconvenience they do not have to undertake."

I nodded. That is a perfectly reasonable explanation. "Well, let's do it," I say with a little sigh, reaching into my purse for my wallet.

"My fee will cover the cost of the wholesale and insurance appraisals once the stone is certified. I can unmount it for you now, if you would like?"

I nod again, feeling a bit like a bobblehead doll.

"Go ahead," I say.

The jeweller set the ring down with care, and retreated into his back room, returning with a small tool kit, and a few sheets of paper. The papers, he hands to me. It's the contract for the appraisal and certification. I start to look it over but I become more interested with his work. He had pulled on a pair of thin gloves. I watch with interest as he slides the ring onto a long rod then turns a crank on the end so the rod splits in half and expands. This allows him to get a decent grip on it without holding the ring in his own hand. He carefully takes up a small black tool with several notches in it and prises up one of the prongs around the setting with a very careful movement. He has another small tool that he touches to the diamond and sort of jiggles it free. He sets it on the black cloth, never touching it. He swivels in his chair and brings up a small electronic scale. He weighs the diamond and then puts it in a small padded wrapper. Almost as an afterthought, he weighs the platinum setting, the actual ring.

Asking for the paper back, he begins to make notes about the stone. He asks me questions about whether or not I wanted the gem to be inscribed with its identification number. I thought that sounded like a good idea. Apparently it was microscopic and would not affect the value. When he was done, he had me look it all over and sign the form. He would mail it this afternoon, and my gem would be returned here within a couple of weeks. Then I would come in for the appraisal.

"This you can take now if you like, or I can keep it here," he says, offering me the platinum ring back in a small clear plastic bag. It looked very odd and spiky without a stone set in it. "There is not much value in the setting. I would say to give it away, if you had a friend who is a jewellery maker. They are sold in retail stores for perhaps two or three hundred dollars, but to try to sell it to one of these wholesale metal buyers you will get perhaps a quarter of that or less."

I place the bag back on the counter, next to the ring in its little envelope and the other papers we had filled out. "I will leave it here then and pick them both up together," I say. I just didn't want to carry the stupid thing around anymore.

"I see," he says thoughtfully. "If you do not mind me saying so, it is a sad thing to have to do. I am sorry that the engraving proved to be incorrect, and he was not your one and only."

I frown a little at his remark. This would be the pity and judgment that Lafayette had warned me about. I turn toward Amelia, who is still perusing one of the display cabinets. "As it turned out actually, it was I that wasn't his. _One_ or _only_, that is," I say, with what dignity I can muster. I let my mouth settle into a hard line.

After a long moment he says, "Thank you for bringing in the stone. It is a lovely object, in itself. I will phone you once it is returned from the gem laboratory."

I give him a stiff nod and shake his hand. I'm ready to leave, but Amelia had evidently found something that had struck her fancy, and she decides to treat herself to a new bracelet. It is antique gold and garnet and amethyst and very pretty. She pays for it and wears it out, carrying its empty box and a small bag with her as we go.

"That wasn't so terrible," I say, as we walk back to the Rabbit.

"No, he seemed to know his stuff. That was a very nice shop. Did you see the watches?"

I had seen, briefly, the case full of old watches. They were all so intricate and delicate, very different from the modern styles you see, which tend to be just sleek and shiny. "Yes," I agree. "They were pretty, but I don't wear a watch. There's a clock in my classroom and there's a clock on my phone, and a clock in the car." A thought occurred to me that I pushed to the side for now. Amelia should really meet Pam some time.

"Movies or manicures?" I ask her, as we settle into the car.

"Is it too early for movies?" Amelia asks, pointedly checking her watch then shooting me a grin. Good, grinning. Progress.

"Probably," I answer.

"Manicures it is, then."

We deliberated where to go, but opted for her usual place in the end. She'd expressed interest in seeing the spa at the hotel, but I thought that might be awkward. Eric had said more than once that I could feel free, but I wasn't terribly comfortable with that in general. The idea of inviting a friend to his hospitality didn't sit well especially. Finally, I figured today was not the day for he and Amelia to meet, should we happen to run into him. I did want to get them together, but I'd save introducing my best friend to my boyfriend on a day when my best friend wasn't moping with heartache.

I got my finger and toenails painted in a sassy hot pink, while Amelia opted for a softer peach colour. The subdued hue matched her mood, but it was still pretty. After our pampering we found we were right on time to catch a matinee. We had a choice between something animated and cute or a romantic comedy. Amelia picked the rom-com, which I took as another hopeful sign. We had a late lunch after that and when my phone rang, I grabbed for it excitedly. It wasn't Claudine though. It was a school asking me to come and interview. I apologized, saying I'd already found a position, and the woman thanked me just the same and we hung up. I explained to Amelia what call I'm so eager to receive, and told her all about the little house as I hadn't had a chance to do so yet.

"So Claudine is basically wonderful," I say. "Thank you so much for giving me her name."

"I'm glad she worked out for you," she replies, and unless I'm mistaken, a little coolly.

"So what's up with you two?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't get along."

"That is correct."

"But you recommended her to me."

"She's very good at her job."

"But?"

Amelia let out a long sharp breath. "I know her from WE, right? And she's a woman entrepreneur, a business owner, perfectly fine. Her business partner is her brother, and that's okay, some of the other women in the group have male partners, it doesn't exclude them or anything. Except that she brought the brother to one of our mixers and of course it turns out that he's some sort of male model wannabe."

"Okay," I say. Had Amelia dated her brother or something?

"Anyway, so naturally all the women at the luncheon were just fawning all over him. He's attractive, sure, but he's not really my taste. He's a bit too cut and polished." I nod. Amelia likes men who are lean, and perhaps even a little scruffy.

"So I was standing a bit back from all that happening, and she comes over and makes some comment about men not being what I'm interested in, as if that's the only reason I could resist her brother. I said no, just that particular one is not, and she just shrugged and then talked a bit about how useful it is, being attractive. I guess the fact that they use their own pictures in their advertisements; it brings more business to them. And that's..._fine_," she continues, emphasising that she really didn't think too well of the whole concept of 'sex sells' but accepted it nonetheless. "But I said something along the lines of that not being my style, and she shot back right away with, 'Well we all have to use the tools available to us. I mean we don't all have Daddy's money backing us up, do we Miss Carmichael?'"

As she finished her explanation I had a very complete understanding of the animosity on Amelia's part.

"How did she know about that?" I ask.

"I don't know. I mean I suppose it's not terribly hard to know, if she knows my father in some capacity."

"She knows Eric too," I said, frowning. "Or knows who he is, anyway."

"Well that's not too strange, especially lately. He was in the newspaper a bit following Sten Northman's death."

"Was he?"

"Well sure. Single and attractive millionaires with large inheritances due to tragedies, are news...especially when it involves the fate of local companies, and local jobs. Did you not see any of it?"

"We were in Bon Temps right after it happened," I frowned. "We only really get the papers on the weekends usually. Normally I just get the national and international news," I say, gesturing to my phone in explanation.

"You're so cute with the 'what we do' already," she says affectionately.

I smiled. "I like him," I tell her with sincerity.

"I'm glad," she says, smirking. "And he's not really an asshole, right?"

My smile widens into a little laugh. "I guess he can be, but he's not to me. He can get a little tense when he's not having his way," I say, biting my lip. "That's normal though right? I mean no one is absolutely perfect all the time."

"No, no one is perfect all the time," she agrees, and then she sighs.

"I'm sorry about Penny," I say.

"Me too. It's her, I think. A lot is that I really liked her," she admits. "But maybe even more than that, I think I just want what you have, and what Lafayette has. I'm not jealous, not resentful, but I guess I'm a little envious?"

I nod. "That's okay," I assure her. "It doesn't make you some covetous monster just because you want what others have. You just have to be a bit careful about it. Guard your heart, as opposed to keeping it locked in the tallest tower."

She rolls her eyes at me. "How do you even manage to still be a romantic after Bill?"

I lifted my eyebrows. "What is the alternative? Buy a cat and resign myself to spinsterhood at twenty-five?"

"That's a misconception. The cat is completely optional."

"Noted," I smirk.

"When are you going home next?" she asks suddently.

I chuckle again. "Where's home anymore? I feel like I've been a migrant worker for weeks now."

"Well, I meant Gran's," she says. I love that she gets that it'll always be Gran's. I love that she misses Gran.

"I was going to go today, but I'm waiting to hear about this place. And then of course, I'm just literally waiting around. I need to do my laundry. I want to check on the garden, but I just get sick of driving back and forth and back and forth, let alone the cost of gas. Thank God the Rabbit gets good mileage."

"Yeah, I've been wondering about that. You're going to get down here and never want to go visit again after all this back and forth."

"That's not going to happen," I grin. "I'll always want to visit."

"May I forward a proposal?" she asks, adopting a tone of formality.

"The floor is yours, Miss Broadway," I say, giving a magnanimous wave of my hands.

"We go pack right now, tag team the drive up with the switch in Alexandria, as per the good old days. We spend all day tomorrow cooking Gran's fried chicken, and cornbread, string beans, and mashed potatoes, and have Jason and Crystal over for dinner tomorrow night, cause I want to meet her. Then Friday we can drive around and look for picturesque spots for their wedding photos, then drive back here Friday afternoon so you can have your weekend with loverboy."

I pursed my lips, considering.

"I could really do with a couple of nights out of town," she says, almost pleadingly.

"Alright, Miss Broadway, you have a deal."

It actually worked out somewhat perfectly that she'd suggested it. I had been holding in reserve the possibility of whisking her away to Bon Temps, and while I was busy here, I did have things I needed to take care of at the house. We left the restaurant and I dropped her off at home, promising to pick her back up shortly. I parked my car back at the hotel and call Pam on my way upstairs.

"Oh, hello, how are you?" she asks after I've identified myself.

"I'm fine, Pam. I was just calling to let you know I'm going to be out of y'all's hair for the next couple of days. I'll be back Friday evening. Will you be around this weekend?"

"No, I am flying Friday afternoon, there are some things I need to retrieve for Eric and I in Seattle."

"Ah, what a slave driver that boss of yours," I grin.

"I do what needs to be done, as does he."

"You're being very diplomatic Pammy, do you have an audience?"

"I do. The slave driver himself is sitting right here."

"Oh is he? I figured he'd be in a meeting or something."

"No. Would you care to say hello? Eric, it is Sookie calling," she says, without giving me the chance to answer her, not that I mind talking to Eric one little bit.

"Sookie?" he asks after a second.

"Hey," I say warmly. "I didn't know if you'd be available, I was just letting Pam know that I'm heading north for a couple of days with Amelia."

"Ah. You'll be back for the weekend then?" he asks.

"If you'd like the company," I hedge. 

"I would," he agrees. "You haven't left yet," he says with certainty. "Where are you?"

"Just getting off the elevator."

I hear a door click open behind me and turn to see Eric emerging from Pam's room. I drop the phone from my ear and smile.

"Twenty minute break," he tells her, handing her phone back. I see her in the doorway smirking and she gives me a little wave before going back inside.

"Hi," I say as he crosses the distance between us and wraps me in a huge hug. "I didn't know you were around," I repeat.

"I am around," he says, giving me a squeeze for emphasis. I'm lifted off the ground momentarily with his arms curled around my waist before he sets me down again. "You were just going to sneak off and leave word with my assistant, hm?"

I just roll my eyes. I was going to call him, or at least leave a message and then call him back later. "I'm glad you happen to be here," I say, leaning up to kiss him.

"Yes, it is quite fortuitous," he agrees, once we break apart.

He follows me back to his room, listening as I tell him my plans with Amelia and he agrees it's a better option than waiting around down here on tenterhooks for the call from Madge.

"Will you be here Sunday afternoon?" he asks.

"Yes."

"We've been invited to lunch with my grandmother," he says. "She made a point of asking if you'd come specifically."

"That's so kind of her," I say. "Is that something you would like to do?"

"I am indifferent. Is it something that you would like to do?"

"She's _your_ grandmother, Eric," I answer.

"And she is shrewd enough to invite _you_, putting the matter in your hands," he says.

"Those Northmans, they are all quite shrewd," I observe. "If I say yes, we should go, will you be quietly resentful the whole time we are there?"

"No."

"Then we should go."

"Alright. I will let her know," he says.

I began gathering my things up while he leaned back against the bed. It was something of a reversal of this morning. I was fairly hasty in my packing, basically just shoving things from the closet back into my suitcase.

"You don't have to take everything you know," he observes. I turn and give him a confused expression. "I mean you could leave some things here, if you wanted to. You wouldn't have to pack as much. I find it very convenient when I'm going back and forth."

For a fleeting moment his expression seemed uncertain, but he quickly smoothed it in favour of his normal calm. "You wouldn't mind that?" I ask.

"I would not," he says, leaning over and snatching something lacy off the top of my open suitcase. "Like these. Feel free to leave as many of these as you like." He started twirling my underwear around his finger by their waistband with a lazy smile.

I grinned in kind and snatched them away from him, but threw them into his laundry bag instead of my suitcase. They could go down with his things, and he could have them back when they were clean, thank you. I had amassed a small collection of his handkerchiefs at home, so technically it was only fair. I pulled a few more things out of my suitcase and put them in with his laundry. I left my navy suit and a more formal dress and a pair of pumps in his closet. They were things I'd really only wear down here anyway. When I was finished with what packing up I did do, I wandered over to the bed and he pulled me forward. I climbed up and straddled his lap and began to give him a very thorough series of goodbye kisses. He groaned and pulled me down and against his groin so I'd have no mistake about the effect I was having on him, but then he pulled away.

"I need to get back," he said with a sigh. "And you need to go."

I nodded, but began kissing him again, and he obliged me quite happily for another few minutes.

"Sookie," he said warningly. It was his husky, lusty voice. I love that voice.

"Eric," I said breathily, shifting to nibble at his earlobe.

He took me by the shoulders and pushed me back from him. I gave him my sweetest of smiles and batted my lashes. He smacked me hard on the butt then rubbed over it. I squealed then squirmed against him. He cocked an eyebrow at my response.

"_That_ is something we will need to explore more at a later date and time," he says. Since I was still making no effort to move away from him, he grabbed me around the waist again and stood up before setting me down on my feet. Reluctantly I smoothed my hands down my front, straightening my shirt and then I straightened his. He picked up my suitcase and carried it out of the bedroom leaving me no choice but to follow him. I tried to protest when we got to the elevator, thinking he really didn't need to carry it all the way down to the car for me. He assured me he would benefit from the walk and the fresh air. He sent me on my way with a far more reserved kiss down at the car, and I went back to Amelia's to pick her up.

Trunk space is not one of the Rabbit's many virtues, so together we hoisted Amelia's bag into the back seat. She packed like Pam. This was way too large for two days, but I didn't take the opportunity to tease her. The drive north was actually fun. We did rehash our college days. She tuned the radio and we sang horribly along to pop songs and country songs, and oldies. We stopped for gas at the old rest stop where we'd always been accustomed to stopping when we made our weekend jaunts to Gran's and she purchased a ridiculous amount of junk food while I pumped the gas. We realized about forty-five minutes later that our 'adult tastes' had finally kicked in, rendering most of the junk pretty unappealing. We decided to save it for my brother, who would still eat pretty much anything.

I called him on our way up and proposed the plan for fried chicken tomorrow night. He happily invited us over to cook the chicken at his house. He'd gotten one of those deep fat fryers on sale at Walmart. He fully intended on cooking the turkey in it for Thanksgiving this year, and was very eager to try it out as soon as possible. Crystal said she'd be happy to see us as well, so our plan was pretty much set. Jason reminded me to make sure to stop on my way home tonight to buy the chicken and soak it in buttermilk overnight. I just rolled my eyes at that.

"Like you have to tell me how to make Gran's chicken, Jason," I said scathingly.

"I just don't want you to screw it up Sook," he teases.

"Oh, I won't be screwing up," I say. "You're going to be so full you'll have to pop the button on your jeans, Jason Stackhouse."

"Looking forward to it, little sister. You got Eric coming with you too?"

"No, he's got to work. It's just me and Amelia."

"See? Even though I'm getting' married, the women all still flock to me."

"You're giving good meaning to the expression _'Oh, Brother' _there Jas," I tease him.

We hung up not long after that. I had my turn commanding the radio while Amelia drove, and together we worked out our shopping list. We'd have to stop on our way in. I remember being really young and thinking it was very silly how stores were open after dark, because of course, in the care of Gran, and me being a child, we never went out that late, so it made no logical sense to me that they'd be open. As an adult, I was pleased as punch to be able to do a full round of grocery shopping at ten o'clock at night. That's what we did, and so it was nearly eleven by the time we got back to the house. I changed the bed sheets while Amelia got the trays down for the chicken. It was nice to have someone in the house who was familiar with it. The only person who had spent any regular time at all here since Gran had died had been Bill, and he'd definitely always been a guest.

It wasn't weird to share a bed with Amelia. We'd done it many times before, but it did remind me once again that I really needed to shop. I'd been putting it off in favour of waiting for the New Orleans move, but decided to try to accomplish it tomorrow after we'd done our baking in the morning. There wasn't actually a whole lot to do. We made the cornbread and cut seasoned the beans. We'd steam them over at Jason's while he cooked the chicken. We boiled and mashed the potatoes and added the garlic, salt, and pepper. We could warm them up later when we added the cream and the butter. We ended up cutting into the cornbread as a part of our breakfast, and I browned up a few of the potatoes with some eggs for us as well. Even still, our morning duties took no more than a couple of hours. I got my laundry started and went out to the garden for a little while. I was probably a day late getting things watered, but everything perked right up after a drink. My little seedlings in their tray on the porch were coming up too.

Around noon we headed out to the Loudermilk place and Amelia got really thoughtful. It was a hot day and we were both in shorts, so we didn't delve too far back into the woods. We had a nice walk around the property which she declared was bordering on spooky.

"It's too bad it's so far away," she said. "This would be such a cute place to run as a little inn or something."

"I thought about that. Not that I really have the money to invest in it, but even if I did, we're so far off the beaten path here. It's not like Bon Temps is a vacation destination."

"A lot of people just like the quiet. You've got the land. You could...I don't know, get horses or something."

"Horses?"

"Yeah to ride on?"

"I don't know the first thing about horses. You sound like Alcide Herveaux, telling me the place would be great with a pool."

"Who's that?"

"The surveyor. He's coming back in a week or so to tell me if we can even spare the house. To see if it's structurally sound."

"Let me know if you like him. The last building surveyor I worked with would not stop little ladying me." I raised my eyebrow at the expression. "You know, 'Now, see here, little lady,'" she said, effecting the tone of a good ole' boy.

"Ah yes. One of those. Well, this guy seemed alright. Lovely to look at, too," I admit with a smile.

"Why Miss Stackhouse, I declare," she says, affecting her heaviest accent and sounding scandalised. "What about Eric?"

"Eric has no competition," I winked. "But I know you can appreciate a _fine_ lookin' man, _Miss Broadway_," I retort.

"Maybe," she says evasively. Oops. I hope that comment didn't rub her the wrong way, suggesting she date a man to get over a woman or something. I hadn't meant to be insensitive.

"Well, if he does a good job I'll give you his company info. I guess they're mostly based up here, but he did mention that he does some work in New Orleans. Why would you need him? Are you building or buying again?" I ask.

"I'm always thinking of it. I've already got two apartments under contract to sell and we're still in construction," she admits.

"Amelia, that's awesome!" I exclaim.

"It kind of is, yes. Dad's proud too," she says. And _that_, I know, is more praise than I can ever offer her. I beamed.

We didn't stay much longer at the property but she said she'd like to come back another time and tramp through the woods and she regretted that we couldn't go inside the house and look around. We headed out to Monroe to look at beds but unfortunately they did not have the kind that they had in Eric's hotel. Apparently these were a luxury line that was only distributed commercially. I found that to be very annoying, and I had half a mind to ask Eric to order them for me and just pay him, but we were already at the store which was the size of a warehouse with beds for me to try out, so I just did that, instead. Amelia was little help. She had one of these memory foam ones in her room. The ones made of the material developed by NASA. I didn't care for it, no matter how luxurious it was supposed to be.

I did finally find a bed that I liked with a nice firm mattress. I ordered two in the California King size, one for my room at Gran's and one for the new apartment. I let Amelia pick the Queen-sized one for the guest room, which was a little softer, but still alright by me. I figured if anything, she'd be more likely to ever sleep on it, so she may as well like it. The beds would be delivered tomorrow and they'd take away Gran's old one, and set up the two. Our next shop was for bed sheets, and Amelia encouraged me to splurge.

"You spend a third of your life in bed," she refrained. I'd heard this said many times before. "You don't want scratchy sheets!"

Way too many dollars later, we were back at Gran's and were just unpacking when Jason called to let us know to come on over since he was starting up the fryer. We carefully packed up the food and took the short drive over to Jason and Crystal's house. I'd already wrapped my head around the idea that it was theirs, and not his. She wasn't home from work yet, but he had us go right ahead and get set up in her kitchen. It was bigger and slightly more modern than Gran's, having been built by my parents back in the seventies.

Amelia got the water boiling for the beans and I set the huge pot of mashed potatoes on the opposite burner and started working in the sour cream over warm heat. We could see Jason out on the deck through the double glass doors in the kitchen casually watching over his brand new propane-powered deep fryer with a look of satisfaction. I had a big paper bag full of the carefully measured mixture of flour, paprika, salt, pepper, cayenne, and cornstarch that I'd be using to shake the chicken pieces up in to ensure their even coating before they went in the fryer. The fryer itself was the only variation on Adele Stackhouse's famous (in this house at least) fried chicken. She did hers in a big old cast iron skillet, but we were still using the peanut oil that she prescribed. I'd railed on Jason about making sure he had it after he'd railed on me about soaking the chicken in buttermilk. There's just a way that things are done, modern contrivances or no.

We heard Crystal come in and she hollered her hellos and Jason came in the house at the same time. He really loved the technique of shaking the chicken up in the bag and was eager to teach Crystal, as well as have me give her the recipe for the coating. He took one of the two trays of chicken out to the deck and came back for the bag. Crystal returned from the bedroom wearing a tank top and some short shorts and arched her back as she entered the kitchen, stretching away the cares of the day.

"Somethin' smells gooood in here," she cooed, and Amelia and I grinned at her, and I made the introductions between my future sister-in-law and my best friend.

We heard Jason stomping around on the porch and heard him call out to his bride to be, "Crystal get that cute butt out here, we got chicken to fry!" and then his paces stopped and after a moment he shouted out and there was a horrible clomping noise as his feet and something else heavy hit the wooden deck. As I turned toward the deck, I saw Crystal's face contort with horror and then I heard the terrible WHOOMPH even through the glass. Somehow by the time I turned around, the oil in the fryer was ablaze, shooting out of the cylindrical canister about three feet into the air.

Beyond the fire I saw my brother, grasping the fryer's lid and using it as a shield from the flame, trying to get close enough to it to... I don't know what he was thinking. Stifle the fire? Beat it back? There were gallons of burning oil in the damn thing. I didn't know what he could do besides wait for it to burn down? Call the fire department maybe. Not my brother.

"Jason! No!" I heard myself shout, as he moved closer. He had tried to sort of half-slide, half-chuck the lid on to the fryer but it caught the blazing heat and burned his hand and the thing went careening over the surface, carried by his power and I stood agape in one long moment as the entire device rocked on its stand, once, twice...

"Oh my God JASON MOVE!" I screamed and saw him step back as the oil tipped over and like a wave breaking on the shores of Hell, fire sloshed across the wooden deck. I could no longer see my brother.

Crystal's eyes were wide and fixated on the orange glow that poured against the glass. Amelia's grip tightened around my arm and I found myself grabbing my friend and my sister and pulling them bodily toward the front door. We reached the front driveway. I don't know how I got them through the door and down the short stairs. I took a quick inventory of the women and while Amelia was blinking confusedly, Crystal went stark white and was starting to shake.

"Amelia," I said loudly, trying to snap her to attention. "Amelia!" I yelled at her, and her eyes locked on mine. "Take Crystal," I pointed toward the end of the driveway. "Take Crystal and call the fire department. Right now," I ordered. My friend blinked at me. "Amelia Broadway!" I yelled. She nodded. She shifted herself so her arms were around Crystal and started walking her away and I watched them take three steps before I turned on my heel and ran in search of my brother.

"Jason!" I called out, tearing around the side of the house toward the back yard. "Jason!" I screeched. I saw him supine at the foot of the short three steps leading down from the deck. His pants leg was burning and fire was running towards him, catching the fresh resin on the deck. I heard cracking, but I couldn't look at the fire, I could only see Jason. I didn't know if he was passed out or stunned or if he'd simply fallen but he wasn't moving. I threw myself toward him and wrenched his arm up but it was no good. I moved behind him and hooked my arms under his and held my wrists across his chest and heaved. He moved back a step. I heaved again, and stepped and again, and again. I was maybe ten paces from the fire when I realized that his leg was still burning and I lurched up, letting my brother's shoulders fall against the ground again and pushed the middle of my body down across his leg to quench the flames. I felt the warmth through my shirt but I pressed so tightly down on him that the fire went out immediately. His jeans were smouldering when I pulled away but they weren't burning any more. I swatted at the embers, burning my hand.

I crawled up to his face and shook him by the shoulders. "Jason!" I yelled, straining to rouse him. "Jason!" He stirred. Thank you God. Thank you God. Thank You. Thank You. "Jason you need to move," I told him. He coughed, rolled, crawled. I saw the back of his head as he did. Bloody. He'd stumbled backwards off the deck. He groaned.

"Sookie? Crystal? The baby..." he slumped forwards, catching his head in his hands.

"Jason move away, I can't drag you. Crystal's just fine Jason, keep moving," I say, twenty paces from the fire. He dragged himself. I pulled ineffectually at the shoulders of his t-shirt, urging him. Thirty paces. I caught myself coughing violently. Amelia. Crystal. I left my brother hunched and inching down the yard toward the lake. I ran toward the front of the house again, going wide around the smoke. All I could see now was the smoke, until I reached the driveway and found my purse lying in the middle of the cement. When had I grabbed it? I bent to pick it up and trotted down to the edge of the driveway where Amelia was hunched around Crystal who was sobbing. I heard the sirens.

"Crystal he's okay. Jason is okay," I told her, and found myself on my knees coughing, panting. "Jason is okay," I assured her, myself, Amelia. A pickup truck pulled up to the side of the road across from the driveway and a man I knew got out and ran over to us.

"Where's Jason?" he barked at me. Shirley Hennessey. His name was Shirley Hennessey, and he went by Catfish. I brought myself to my feet again and ran back, trusting that Catfish would follow. I found my brother nearly down to the dock, still moving by inches away from inferno that blossomed up behind us. Even at this distance I could feel the heat on my back. Catfish came up to us within seconds and he helped me hoist Jason to his feet, shouting at him and demanding that he stand up and walk. Between us we started to get him to the front of the house. About halfway up another man came and took my place supporting Jason's right shoulder and I was ordered to the end of the driveway with the others just as the fire truck pulled in.

Someone brought me a bottle of water. I drank it gratefully and asked for another, taking Amelia's when she offered it. I started laughing as I thought of Eric teasing me for being so wasteful once again. Hysteria. The smoke was mixing with steam now, billowing into the dusky sky. My brother was taken to the hospital and Crystal went with him. She would be fine. The baby would be fine, and Jason would be fine too. I thought fleetingly that I should go with them, but surely someone needed to stay here and talk to the police and the firemen? At some point some EMTs arrived and because Jason was already gone they set about examining me and Amelia. I was given an oxygen mask to wear. A man gave me a jacket. I was covered in greasy black soot and my shirt had singed where I'd leaned over Jason. A man had unceremoniously jerked up my shift to show I had some pinked skin, nothing serious.

When the fire was finally out I restarted the story of what happened for a third time, for the remaining men. There was a small crowd around Amelia and I and we spoke in turns telling what we'd seen, how the oil had tipped and the deck had quickly gone up against the side of the house. The kitchen and Jason's "mancave" had been destroyed. A bathroom, too. The rest, it would take time to tell. There would be smoke and water damage everywhere. I thanked the men who had come to put the fire out. I pulled Catfish Hennessey into a fierce hug and thanked him for being here first, for helping to save my brother.

I looked at Amelia and she smiled faintly. I hugged her too. "Never a dull moment in Bon Temps," she said weakly. I laughed mirthlessly. It was another hour before the last of the officials had left. Amelia and I were both weary, so I took her to my house, and we both took showers and changed our clothes. We brought clothes for Crystal too, in case she wanted to change, and we drove to the hospital.

Crystal and Jason were both okay. Crystal had been checked over by the doctors because she was pregnant and had suffered a serious alarm and stress, but they had assured her and Jason both that she was in fine shape. My brother had second and third degree burns over a small area on his leg, and a mild concussion where he'd hit his head tripping off the stairs as he hurried to get away from the fire.

"We're a matched pair now, Sook," he grinned up at me as I hovered over his bed. He was referring to the fact that we'd both been concussed lately. I burst into tears. Amelia produced some tissues out of nowhere and thrust them at me. "Aw Sook, cut that out, we're fine."

I continued to snivel for several minutes more, all of the stress of the last few hours hitting me at once. I'd pretty much held it together the entire time, and all at once I was struck with the fact that we very nearly lost a hell of a lot more than my parents' house today. I took my brother's hand and thanked God again out loud for the safety of my friend and my family, and for our neighbours who had rushed to help. We stayed with Jason for a while longer and eventually the nurses urged us all to leave and let him rest. We could pick him up in the morning.

At her request, I brought Crystal to Maryelizabeth's house. I'd offered to let her stay with me, but she declined. I told her we'd come back for her in the morning to go and pick up Jason and she thanked me for that as she left from the car into the arms of her cousin who gave us a wave as she lead Crystal inside.

"Are you alright?" I asked Amelia seriously when we were alone again.

"Shaken," she said. "But alright. Are you?" she asked. I could feel her studying gaze as I drove.

"He was on fire." I told her. "I can't get that out of my head."

"You put it out though," she told me. She'd heard me recount this multiple times already.

"I'm giving them Gran's house," I stated.

"You can stay with me until you're settled," she said.

I nodded. "Thank you."

We didn't talk much more once we got back to Gran's. She went inside to get ready for bed and I stayed out on the porch to tend to the laundry. It was very late, but I called Eric anyway.

"Sookie?" he answered. I could hear the sleep in his voice and felt badly immediately.

"Hi Eric," I said. "I'm sorry to wake you up."

"Everything okay?" he asked, immediately sounding more alert.

"Not really," I sighed. "My brother's house burned tonight. He's fine, we're all fine, I just... we just got back, and I just wanted to talk to you for a minute before I go to sleep."

"What happened?" he asked.

"Cooking oil caught fire," I explained. "Amelia and I were gonna cook Gran's fried chicken for him and Crystal. Oil caught fire, he tipped the oil."

"You were there? You're alright?" he demanded.

"I was there, and I'm alright," I assure him. "My brother fell, hit his head, trying to get out of the away. Got a burn on his leg, but he's cracking jokes. I had some smoke inhalation, but they just had me breathe oxygen."

"Will you still be back tomorrow night? Do you need me to come up there?"

"No, stay there. We may still be back tomorrow but it's not a certainty. I've got Amelia here with me still, and I won't want to keep her away longer than she planned. We're going to go get Jason in the morning and then we'll just see."

"Can I help?"

"I can't think of anything just now, but thank you for the offering."

"Christ, I'm sorry," he says. I guess this is one of those situations where all you can do is express that. He's sorry it happened. I don't bother with the pedantry of telling him it's not his fault. I know what he means.

"Me too," I agree. I let a long moment of silence fall. "So how was _your_ day, dear?" I asked him, struggling for levity.

He gave an equally weak chuckle. After a moment he began to tell me about an argument he'd had with Sophie Ann, and then about Peter Threadgill's latest gaffe. By the end of the conversation I had begun to feel vaguely normal again.

"Thank you Eric," I told him just before we hung up. "For talking with me. I feel better for it."

"I appreciate that you called me," he said. "I'm very glad you're okay."

"I'll let you get back to sleep them. Good night Eric."

"Good night, Sookie. I'll see you soon."

"Bye."

We hung up then, and I stripped off right there on the porch and walked inside, flipped off the lights, and crawled into bed with Amelia already lain down on the other side.

"Dad says hello," she tells me, without turning over. "How's Eric?"

"Good," I answer. "Sweet. Concerned."

"That's good," she says. "We still going home tomorrow?"

"Think so."


	19. Caste and Real

A/N: A Midsummer Night's Dream is one of my favourite plays. Titania and Oberon are the Queen and King of the Faeries, and Puck a tricksy, mischievous sprite both in the play and in English folklore. This site is being rather puckish today.

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><p>I was up by seven out of habit. I did my best to stay quiet so Amelia could sleep in. Rather than taking a shower, I closed the bedroom door and went out to the kitchen to make breakfast and brew the coffee. Muffins out of the box again. They were tried and true. I'd take them in the car so Jason could have something to eat on the way home. I got out my laptop and started making a list of the things that would need to be done today and in the coming days, concerning their house. I know it wasn't my responsibility, per se, but frankly I didn't know what else to do with myself.<p>

He'd need to contact his insurance company first thing. I wasn't even sure where to begin with the house. The whole back wall and the back part of the roof had burned away. The inside was probably still completely sodden, and would remain so for days. No doubt having a little more air circulating in there was a good thing. They'd want to get some of their possessions out, so we'd need boxes. I had some, but I wasn't sure how many we'd need. I'd stop and get some on the way to pick up Jason. A short while later I got a call from Maryelizabeth Norris, though it turned out to actually be Crystal on the other end. Her own phone was still at their house. I wondered if it was intact. Amelia came out a short while later and over coffee, we agreed that she would stay here while I went to get Jason and Crystal. It wasn't that she didn't want to come and see to them and their house, but we were expecting the mattress delivery and she said she'd take care of that as well as stripping off the bed, and making up the new ones. I was grateful to her for being willing to take care of that. She practically shooed me out the door and said she'd work on something for lunch for all of us while she waited.

The drive out to retrieve Jason was pretty quiet. Crystal seemed a little numb whereas I was continuing my internal list-making. When I picked up her up, Crystal told me Maryelizabeth was headed over to the house to try to get started on... evaluating the situation, she guessed. Maryelizabeth had also extended the offer for Jason and Crystal to stay at her place, I was told. I frowned a bit at that, but refrained from commenting yet. When we reach the hospital and I park the car, Crystal practically leaps out in her eagerness to retrieve my brother.

"Crystal?" I call out to her. She's already several paces ahead of me.

"Yeah?" she turns on her heel impatiently.

"Can you go up and get him checked out? I'm going to drive over and get some more boxes, since we're up here already. It'll save us a trip later."

"Yeah? Yeah. I can do that. I'll go get him," she says.

"Okay. I won't be long. I'll pick you up at the entrance in a little bit," I assure.

Once she wasn't checked by me, she practically runs off. I took out my phone and dialled.

"Hello?" the increasingly more familiar voice answers.

"Maryelizabeth? Hi, this is Sookie Stackhouse," I state.

"Oh hi, Sookie," she replies.

"Listen, do you have a moment?" I ask.

"Sure... It's kind of a wreck here. I'm not too sure where to start." I guess she'd already got to Jason and Crystal's.

"I figured it would be," I agree. "I'm on my way over now to pick up some boxes so we can pack the stuff they'll need, whatever can be saved," I tell her, before continuing, "Crystal said you've offered to let them stay with you?"

"Yeah. I figure it's the least I can do, you know?" she asks.

"I do know. I was going to make them the same offer, staying at my Gran's old house. I'll be in New Orleans full time pretty soon, and there's a lot of space here for them. The house will be pretty much empty but for a few old things. I wanted to call and tell you I was going to offer, so it didn't seem like I was going around you, nor ignoring your generosity."

"Oh," she says, almost sounding sad. "I guess that would be better for them, having a whole house to themselves."

"Right," I agree, "It's still up to them to stay where they want, obviously." I feel certain that Gran's house is the better offer. Maryelizabeth lives in a very tiny house out in Hot Shot, a hole in the road little hamlet even smaller than Bon Temps. I didn't think her place had more than one bedroom. I knew they could make it work if they had to, but they didn't have to. I guess our family was a little better off than Crystal's, not that that was saying much. I knew from experience that the less you have, the prouder you can be of what you do possess, and I sincerely hoped that Maryelizabeth wouldn't view me as stepping on her toes for upstaging her offer.

"Okay. We'll let them decide," she says. "I'll see you guys in an hour or so then?"

"We'll be there," I agree.

We say our thank you's and goodbye's and then I hurried to pick up another twenty boxes and some more tape and a big fat magic marker and some bubble wrap so we'd be well prepared for whatever we might need. I got back to the hospital and I was still a few minutes waiting at the entrance for Jason and Crystal to appear. He was wheeled out in a chair and she looked fretful to see him in it despite that he was able to stand up and walk over to the car without assistance, once permitted.

"How's your head?" I ask him, once we're all settled back in. Crystal was in the back seat, so I kept trying to make a point to catch her in the rear view mirror as we talked so she wouldn't feel excluded from the conversation. She ended up leaning forward and resting her head against Jason's arm in between the seats for most of the drive.

"Little sore. My leg is stinging like a bitch though. It's worse than that time I got bit by the jellyfish," my brother answers. Summer trips had been rare for us growing up, but there had been one memorable trip with Gran's Descendants group to Sabine Pass, right on the border of Texas down by the coast. There'd been two battles on land but it was also the site of a naval blockade trying to upset supply lines into Texas during the Civil War. For Jason and I, that meant almost a whole day at the beach and it had been the best trip ever, right up until Jason stepped on a jellyfish and got stung (not _bitten_, Jason) so badly that Reverent Minter had to carry him back to the bus. I remember being terrified at the time with the way my brother was howling. The old folks just agreed that if he'd been able to carry on like that way back during the war, he would have scared the Union out of the natural harbour single-handedly.

We chatted back and forth about my brother's relatively minor injuries for a short while, including his anticipated recuperation time. He planned to be back to work next week. Crystal was still subdued. I was really glad she hadn't seen Jason as I had seen him, laying on the ground unconscious and, oh yeah, _on fire_. With the way she'd slipped into a panic, I think having that image in her mind would have messed her up pretty badly. It was certainly messing me up pretty badly. When I finally raised the issue of them staying at Gran's house, Jason treated it like a foregone conclusion and Crystal didn't say much.

"I spoke to Maryelizabeth while you were checking Jas out," I tell her. "I hope you don't mind, I just figure there might be a bit more space for you guys, while you're having your place rebuilt."

Crystal just nods at that and thanks me. It seems as though Jason has made the call, and she'll abide his wishes. The subject switched to insurance, and I was really proud to hear that much like with me, Gran had successfully impressed upon Jason the need to keep up with insurance for the home. So he'd, they'd, be covered for a lot of what was lost. That was a good thing. I gave him my phone so he could call Greg Auber to meet him out at their house today. Mr. Aubert had been Gran's insurance agent, and was now both Jason's and mine. He'd always been kind to Gran and that had gone a long way with either of us once we were grown ourselves and deciding who to give our business to. Since Jason worked for the Parish, he had good health insurance too. He wouldn't have to worry about being stuck with huge medical bills, either. Just moderate ones.

Once we got back to Jason's house, I found Maryelizabeth in their bedroom trying to pack up their clothes and decided to help with that. I could take some of them back to my house and get started running them through the wash. Jason had reached the house in good spirits that didn't falter until he got inside. From outside, looking at the front, you almost couldn't tell what had happened. Once inside, the acrid stench and the damp and smoke-stained everything exposed the reality. The smell really was terrible. I couldn't recall having ever smelled a house fire before, but rest assured, it is not the same smell as a wood fire, or even the same as when people burn their garbage. Maybe it was closer to the second, but I'd certainly never been exposed to this concentrated. We were breathing in the scent of charred linoleum, roof tar, paint, carpet, resin, sealant... It was truly caustic. I found myself breathing through my mouth. I should have had Jason steal some of those masks from the hospital, to filter some of what we were all now inhaling. I put them on the list.

The upshot of the morning was this: As far as we could all tell, nothing major that couldn't be replaced had been damaged irreparably. They'd lost a lot of possessions. A lot of things, even in the rooms that the fire hadn't touched, were destroyed by smoke or else by water, but they were simply _things_. Mr. Aubert had come with some forms for my brother to fill out, cataloguing what was lost. He urged him to get a surveyor out here ASAP to start seeing about repair estimates. Hearing that, I went ahead and called Connie Babcock at Herveaux and Son again and asked her if she could get someone out here pronto.

Jason and Crystal's cars and keys and phones and wallets were safe. My brother's idea of a spot for safe-keeping was his underwear drawer, so thankfully all of his important documents were intact. A fire safe for them, like I'd gotten for myself, went on the list. The big loss, to my mind, at least, was the framed pictures of our family that had been in the back hall. These had been photos of my parents in this house before they even had Jason or I, and then some of them with us, from before they had died and Jason and I had gone to live with Gran. There had been one of their wedding day, and another with both sets of our grandparents in it. A couple of these were ones that I had in duplicate on the walls of the farmhouse, but some we wouldn't see again. The discovery of this particular destruction had been the only profoundly sad moment of the morning. I was younger, and my memories of them at this point, were hazy at best. These pictures had always made them seem more real to me. Jason caught me in the scorched hallway holding the remnants of a frame and knew exactly what it was and my expression did nothing to hide what I was thinking. Longing. Love. Sorrow. He threw his arm around my shoulder and squeezed my shoulders for a long moment.

After that, I went ahead and filled my car with as many boxes as I could (only four, as it turns out), and drove back to my house to start making room for them. I opted to set them up in the guest room, since that room was emptier. The new beds had arrived and Amelia had already made them up with sheets and blankets. She was at work in the kitchen when I arrived, fixing lunch for us all. She'd made egg salad sandwiches and potato salad. I unpacked the car and started washing the smoke out of my brother's clothes while she finished up. Then, the pair of us worked to haul the remaining boxes from _my_ move out of the front room and into my bedroom to keep everything separate from whatever of their stuff they decided to bring over.

I called Jason and invited him to bring another batch of their clothes and linens over in the truck, as well as himself, Crystal, and Maryelizabeth to come for the lunch Amelia had done up. Crystal and Jason showed up about twenty minutes later. Maryelizabeth had gone home. She'd taken the morning off work to help out, but decided she really ought to get in for the afternoon. The four of us sat around talking about all the things we were waiting to learn; how quickly the house could be repaired, how much of those costs the insurance would cover. One thing we did not touch on was the subject of the wedding. I wasn't sure they'd still be able to go ahead as planned, considering this would doubtless leave them with a lot of unanticipated expenses, not to mention the fact that they'd planned on having the reception there. Once I let my mind wander in that direction it was hard to think of anything else.

I figured that this was just about the most serious thing that my brother had ever had to deal with, the fire that is. Especially when it was immediately combined with the previous most serious thing - planning the wedding and preparing for fatherhood. I've reflected in the past that my brother has had a pretty easy life. Not a life without its sorrows, but a life without much tribulation. This seemed to punctuate the end to his easy-breezy existence, with finality.

"Sookie?"

"Hm?" I ask. I'd heard my name.

"I said, did you want to stay another night?" Amelia says, apparently repeating herself.

"Stay? Oh, that's up to Jason and Crystal. Can we be of any use to you guys?" I ask, turning to them. "Do you want help packing or clearing or cleaning?"

I saw the look on Jason's face, and I could tell he was about to tell me yes, to stay and help, but Crystal cut in first. "That's alright. You girls should get back to New Orleans."

I shot my brother a look. I couldn't help it. He was watching Crystal with an expression that in him I considered to be inscrutable.

"Are you are?" I ask. I am honestly willing to stay if they need us, and I want them both to know this.

Something had been communicated silently between Jason and Crystal and I wasn't exactly sure what it was. My brother gave the slightest nod as he turned back to look at me, "Nah, Sook. You guys should go. You'll be back next week, anyway, right?"

I nodded. "I think so, some time. I have meetings Monday and Tuesday, so maybe by Wednesday."

"Yeah, we have this covered Sook. You've done a lot already."

"Okay then. I guess we'll clear out after lunch," I say, and I couldn't help feeling slightly unwanted. I struggled both to shrug it off and to not fall into my reverie again but rather to stay with the conversation. Though we attempted to find a few topics that were not the house fire, it was hard to stray too far from that. Before Jason and Crystal left again to go back to their salvage efforts, I took time to tell them where I'd been keeping things, at least anything I'd changed from when Gran lived here. It wasn't really much. I'd made the front closet into a coat closet and was keeping all the linens back in the closet in my bathroom. It was just more convenient to me. I was keeping all the cleaners out on the side porch, as opposed to under the kitchen sink, and told them to help themselves with anything they needed for the house. Jason had keys, but I gave the spare set from the kitchen drawer to Crystal. They left, and Amelia and I went back to my room to pack up.

Gran's old bed had been a queen size, so when they were shifting things around this morning Amelia had them move her actual bed, the wooden frame with its headboard and footboard, into the guest room. The new California king was just set up on a frame in my room. The room looked strange, not least because the second mattress and its base were propped against the wall and still in their plastic wrappings. Somehow, it managed to seem emptier. I flopped myself down on the bed. It was even more comfortable than when I'd tried it at the store.

"You need to do something about the wallpaper in here," Amelia remarked from the doorway.

I looked around me from my prone position. She gestured toward the wall behind the bed so I propped myself up to look. You could see the pale outline of where Gran's headboard had rested undisturbed for years. I made a face. It wasn't that the walls that had always been exposed were visibly dirty, just aged.

"And look," she said, walking over to lift a picture down. The same outline of where the frame had sat was obvious.

I pulled a face. I'd stripped the wallpaper and painted in the upstairs rooms last month. It was not a chore I was particularly looking forward to doing again, but she was right. The age of the pale flowered paper in here was showing more than ever.

"Next week then," I promised. I'd have things to keep me busy, at least.

We packed up again and then I went out to change the laundry while she fixed some snacks for our drive. I left the basket of fresh laundry on the bed in the guest room for Jason and Crystal and a note that told them there would be more in the dryer when they got back. I made sure there were hangers in the closet and the drawers were clear. Amelia had loaded our bags into the Rabbit again and when I could find nothing else to do, we left. I took the first leg, and we drove more or less in silence for about forty-five minutes until I finally spoke.

"I'm sorry you didn't get your chicken," I said lightly.

"I'm sorry your brother's house burned down," she replied back dryly.

"They were weird today, right? It wasn't just me?"

"It's hard to say. I have no idea what I would be like in their situation."

"I feel like they would have wanted me to stay longer."

"Did you want to stay?"

"I don't know. Should I have?"

"You asked them and followed their wishes, that seems like the right thing to have done."

"I guess so," I say, sounding unconvinced and uncertain. "It almost seemed like they didn't want me."

"I'm sure it's awkward for them, being forced to rely on your kindness."

"What? It's Jason's house too."

"It isn't though, it's yours."

"He grew up there. It'll always be his in a way."

"I figure you're the only one that sees it that way. Gran left it to you. Your parents house was technically left to both of you, and you signed your part over to Jason ages ago. He got that one, you got the other. Did you ever think of his house as yours?"

I frowned at that. "No, I guess I didn't."

"So I reckon he feels odd about that maybe. At best, he's imposing, at worst, maybe they're taking your charity."

"Charity! He's my brother! She's about to be my sister!" It's charity when you're helping strangers. When it's family, you help them as you would yourself.

"Says the woman who was going to ready to refuse money she needed from the person responsible for that very need. Face it. You Stackhouses have a streak of pride a mile wide."

I huffed out a sigh. Well, it's not like I could argue that. Now I started to question how Jason would respond to the other idea I'd been kicking around. So much for that.

"What are you going to do this weekend?" I asked her after a while.

"You mean when my best friend abandons me in favour of luxury and carnal delights?" she teased.

"We're having lunch with his grandmother on Sunday, but I'm free besides that if you want me to stay, or if you want to hang out," I say quickly.

She smacked my arm at this point, but thankfully I saw it coming out of the corner of my eye and it didn't make me jerk in traffic or anything.

"Watch it!" I scolded her.

"You watch it, missy. I don't want your pity any more than your brother does."

"It isn't pity, I just want to be around for you if you need it."

"I've had my sulking. And while our Bon Temps excursion wasn't quite the quaint country getaway I'd had in mind, it certainly served to put matters into perspective. There are bigger things in life to worry about than a girl who doesn't like me the way I like her."

"True," I agreed, infinitely relieved. Amelia is not one to wallow by nature. I could hear the sincerity in her words and knew that she was ready to pick herself up and dust herself off.

"Did Claudine call yet?" she asked, changing the subject.

"No," I frowned. "I'm sure I'll hear from her before we get there."

I didn't though. Amelia and I switched seats at our accustomed spot and I sat there for the remainder of the drive failing to distract myself with the radio while furtively dithering with my phone to check that it was in service and I had no voicemails. The only thing I received during the drive was a text from Pam letting me know she was at the airport and would see me Monday. I figured it was a message sent out of boredom while she waited for her flight, but I kind of liked the fact that we were becoming better friends, so I obliged her and we sent a few messages back and forth. Amelia and I chatted about lesser things, like how I'd paint Gran's room, and what kind of furniture I'd get in there eventually. She was campaigning hard for a white, yellow, and blue colour scheme. I was worried that would make it look like a nursery. She finally pulled up in front of her apartment and I stretched mightily while she dragged her suitcase out from the back seat again.

"Want me to come up for a while?" I asked her with a yawn.

"Nope," she answered with her own yawn. They're contagious. It's been proven scientifically. Not only in a real clinical study, but this had been my project in the science fair one year. "Go see Eric. I'm going to take a bubble bath with a bottle of wine," she grins lazily.

"That sounds lovely," I told her.

"Call me if you want to stay on Sunday or Monday though?" she said.

I nodded that I would. We'd had plenty of time to talk in the last couple of days, and she knew that I sometimes felt awkward about hanging around Eric's while he wasn't there. Now that Penny was out of the picture, the open invitation to stay at Amelia's had been reinstated. She'd been very emphatic about it, expressing her guilt over letting me down on this account. I had assured her it was fine, though.

So, we said our goodbyes and I drove over to Eric's hotel. I lugged my suitcase out of the trunk and only then did it occur to me to call him to let him know I was around.

"Hey!" I greet in response to his hello.

"Hey Sookie, did you decide to stay in Bon Temps tonight?" he asks, as I pull the little handle out of my rolling bag and pull my trunk closed and lock it.

"Nope!" I answer cheerfully. "We just got back. I'm at your hotel."

"You are?" he asks.

"Yup, just heading into the lobby. Are you here? Hey, will my little card key still work?"

"It should. Yes, I'm upstairs."

"Oh good, I didn't even know if you'd be back yet." It was only about seven, and he tends to work later than this. I guess because it's Friday, and Pam's already gone.

"I'm just finishing some things up here," he says, and I notice for the first time that he sounds a little out of sorts. There's something of an edge to his tone.

"Everything alright?" I ask.

"Hm? Oh yeah, sure. Listen, I'll see you in a couple of minutes," he says and disconnects.

Alright then. I hope he hasn't had a bad day with work. I feel like I could really use some concentrated snuggling on his couch and maybe some room service or some takeout food later one. Hopefully he's amenable to this plan. Maybe we could try Amelia's idea of a nice hot bath, too. Actually, that might be even better. I see Paul at the desk and he's got a warm smile for me which I return. One of the bellhops comes up to try to help with my bag but I assure him I can manage it. I recognize him, but I don't know his name. I take a quick peak at his tag. It's Bill. Hmph. Well, I'll try not to hold that coincidence against him.

I ride the elevator up to the sixth floor and as I push the button I remember again my curiosity about the penthouse suites. Maybe I will ask Eric to show me. I'd like to know what lavish looks like really, if Eric's room is only the penultimate offering. As I reach his door it opens for me, and for a second I smile, assuming that he's been waiting to greet me, but instead a completely different blonde appears in the doorway. She is dressed smartly in a soft grey suit. She is quite pretty, a little taller than I am and more narrow in the waist and hips. She's grinning as well but when she sees me her expression falters as surely as mine must have. She averts her eyes and moves past me, and I pause long enough that the door swings shut behind her. I didn't have the card out since I knew he was in there, so instead I knocked. I heard the elevator chime closed behind her. It hadn't been called away in the few moments since I'd left it and she'd got right on.

I felt like I was standing there for a little while and so I knocked again and then started fishing into my purse to get my wallet out when finally he opened the door. He was in another of his well-fitted dark jackets with a silvery grey shirt, but no tie. His hair was down. He looked lovely. I felt all the more dishevelled in comparison.

"Hey," he says, stepping towards me and curling an arm around my shoulders. He pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head.

"Hi," I say, letting go my suitcase to pull my arms around him in return. I let my head fall against his chest, happy to leave it tucked under his chin. My hands went inside his jacket around his back. I breathed him in. There was a faint hint of his cologne which I happened to really like, left over from when he must have put it on this morning. We pull away from each other after a long moment and he moves back to open the door for me to enter with my suitcase. "Who was that leaving?" I ask.

"Bethany Storbridge," he answers quickly. "She's one of the managers with the Northman Group."

"Really?" I ask. "Is everything okay? I thought they were getting on without you for now."

"They are, for the most part. She had some information I need to see on a new property my grandfather had been looking to acquire in Hawaii. It's going up for auction soon. She wants us to bid. Pam didn't have time to get over there today so Bethany brought things over on her way home from work."

"Ohh," I say as I accept the explanation. Yeah, maybe I'm a little relieved.

He catches that right away and lifts his eyebrows at me. "Ohh?" he queries back.

I feel myself flush immediately. "I'm sorry," I apologize. "You just seemed off on the phone and then a hot blonde was coming out of your room giving me the stink eye..." I trail off.

"You assumed," he begins.

I put my hand up. "Not assumed. Worried. Just for a second there. I'm sorry."

He frowns at me, his forehead creasing.

"It's me," I continue, embarrassed now. I step towards him again and tentatively put my arms around him, hugging him close to me again. After a moment his arms encircle me. "I'm not untrusting where you're concerned," I say. It's much easier to speak directly into his chest than to look at him. "I'm just...fearful. I like you. It would hurt a lot...to get caught up short again." It's a bitter admission, and I hate that the shadow of Bill Compton made its way into this room, that it darkened my view of Eric even briefly. I know it might be understandable. Psychologically speaking, I'm probably defying the odds finding myself able to let something new be this good, this soon. That thought is small consolation.

He holds me tighter as I make my profession. His tone had been almost offended before I cut him off, but now he understands. He holds me, and it's exactly what I need. He pulls back only enough to kiss me on the mouth. It starts slowly, softly, sweetly, but once it has begun it is infused with his passion. It is the kiss I was expecting when the door opened and I was greeted with Bethany Storbridge instead. I make soft sounds of pleasure as he lifts me up so I'm on my tiptoes and even then they're only barely touching the floor. He breaks away to tell me, "I like you too. I would like to show you _how much_ I like you." It's the low sex voice again and any thoughts I have about anything but him are gone. I nod. I would like him to show me that. In detail. With all the footnotes. I follow him back to the bedroom and with slow and meticulous care he does just that.

"Did you hear from Madge?" he asks. He is on his back, and I am curled around him with an arm on his chest, my head against his shoulder, and my knee slung across his thigh. He is stroking across my shoulder blades, twirling the ends of my hair with one hand. His other is tucked behind his head exposing his armpit. I let my fingertips trace across the tuft of blonde hair there, across the tendons and muscles of his underarm. It seems like such an intimate place to touch someone, even more so than their private parts, which of course, have more use.

"No," I sigh. "I couldn't get Claudine, either. I guess I'll try tomorrow."

"I'm sure it will work out."

"You're sure, huh?"

"I have a hunch."

"You didn't go on a date with Eloise Batiment while I was gone, right?" I try to make my tone light, poking a bit of fun at my own insecurity.

"No, I couldn't fit her in my schedule. My assistant seems to have developed a bit of loyalty to my girlfriend and deliberately keeps me quite busy when she is away," he tells me and I hear the smirk.

I feel him shiver as I just happen to trace across the hollow of his armpit again. He is at my mercy right now. He is reminded.

"My grandmother mentioned it when I confirmed our lunch date for Sunday," he explains, abandoning the joking. "I suppose their world is very small. It was mentioned by Madge that she has a potential renter, and you have an uncommon name that is easy to recognize. I am sure you got a rave review."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good then. Hopefully I'll hear soon."

"How is your curriculum coming?" he asks.

"It's shaping up. I think I'm going to keep the keep the history theme for the other session, and focus on the geometry of some of the world wonders. The Aqueducts, the Pyramids of Giza and the South American ones, the Great Wall of China, Stonehenge. Maybe even skyscrapers. There are so many things like this, we could do a different one every day and explore the math that went into designing, and working out the time and the manpower involved."

"I like that," he says. "It's a nice real-world application for them, if you get into architecture or the civil engineering aspects. It'll be a continuance on theme for those who attend both sessions, but definitely different enough that there will be no repetition in the two."

I can't help but smile at that. I'm very flattered he has paid so much attention, and his approval seems genuine. "I'm presenting it to the directors on Tuesday, so we'll see if they like it," I tell him.

"I can't imagine they won't. It makes me wish I'd gone to summer school, though admittedly a portion of my envy stems from having a crush on the math teacher."

I give a little gasp. "Mister Northman, don't get fresh or I will have to keep you after class," I tease.

"I do not think I would particularly object to being detained in this instance," he says.

We lay like that for a little while longer, just talking and flirting and being playful. It was so welcome after the last couple of days. We did get up to bathe before it got too late, and I nearly fell asleep in the tub again before we decided to call it a night. Morning came and we were famished, resulting from the enjoyable exertions of the night before and as a consequence, the fact that we never got around to having dinner. I let him order again while I was blowing out my hair. Once mine was done I did his, since he insisted on standing around watching me be naked and bending over. I can't imagine his fascination, truly.

Our food arrived and we brought the tray over in front of the television to enjoy our feast. I was surprised when he told me he'd ordered the blueberry pancakes since we agreed they were better elsewhere, and then extra surprised when they turned out to be the same ones I'd eaten when we'd stayed at the other hotel that I had chosen.

I chuckled with delight and helped myself. "Did you sneak back and steal the recipe?" I ask him.

"No," he grins. "The cook."

I peered at him. "What, really?" I ask.

"Yes," he confirms. "Apparently our benefits are much better and I offered a minor salary increase. There was no reason for him to refuse."

"Wow," I say. Like a dish? Just bring the cook home with you. How strange!

"The hours are more consistent for him, too. Apparently we lucked out with him at breakfast that day. He had a very erratic schedule at the other place, sometimes mornings, evenings, sometimes overnights. He was eager to start here right away."

"That's great," I say. "Are you thinking of opening a restaurant here as well now that you have an extra cook? Lots of hotels have them."

"No, I have no interest in that. And we do not have an extra cook. We let one of the old ones go after the hire was made."

I stare at him.

"She received a very nice severance. It will hold her over until she finds a new position. I hear there is a vacancy across town," he grins. I don't.

"That's a little... heartless, don't you think?"

"I do not," he says firmly. "Someone who does a significantly better job was willing to step in. She has been amply compensated, and will receive a good reference. What should I have done? Continue to employ an inferior cook after her replacement was instated, out of kindness?"

"Eric, she wasn't _bad_ at her job," I argue. "The food here has always been good."

"People do not stay here because they want an average experience, Sookie. We are offering finest luxury and that extends from the man who takes your bag to the woman who books your reservations to the pancakes on your plate. Consider that anything that has ever been brought here has been done with the staff's full knowledge that it is for me. Now their boss, previously the grandson of their boss. It will have been their best effort - or it better have been. If this can be so easily surpassed on any random morning at a competing hotel, can I really feel confident that I am offering my clients the best?"

I bit my lip. I see his point of course, but gosh. 'Sorry, but your cooking is merely mediocre. You're fired.' It's like a real life version of one of those reality shows on the food channel.

"We must offer the highest quality of service. That is the crux of this business, and not to fall back on the old trope of 'it's just business,' but that is simply the case here," he asserts.

"Do you find it difficult to enforce these decisions?" I ask. I'm reaching for his compassion at this point. Surely it's around here somewhere?

"If I considered it from a personal angle, I certainly might. The old cook was a good _employee_," he stresses, "But ultimately unsatisfactorily in her _job_. The fit was not right. These things must be done, and so they are done. I cannot afford to dwell on it."

I frown, but reach over and pat his arm as though assuring him I understand. I sort of do. It is a necessity, albeit an unpleasant one.

I shift the conversation to our plans for the day, and we decide to drive into Mississippi and visit De Soto National Forest. They've got hiking trails, and I feel like a good long walk. Eric will get to drive on the winding scenic roads. It's only about an hour outside of the city. It seems like a good plan all around. On our way up we pick up some sandwiches to carry along for a picnic. There are some more serious hikers in evidence once we arrive, people with walking poles and fanny packs, hip packs, whatever you want to call those ghastly belted pouches. Some people had backpacks, which probably would have been a good idea, to be honest, but Eric was happy to carry the little bag with our lunch. He clasped my hand with his free one and we just strolled, content to be passed by the others who clearly had places to go and nature to see.

We are in no hurry and we walk for about two hours before we decide to stop. We found a nice clear spot beside the river to have our lunch, and stay sprawled and happy after we finish. I lean on my hands, throwing my head back, soaking in the sun. I can feel him watching me, but I don't mind. This is peaceful and relaxing, just what I needed. Occasionally people paddle by us in their canoes or kayaks, the steady beating of their oars cutting into soft burble of the slow moving water to herald their arrival well in advance. We grin and wave back when children wave and call up at us, totally astonished and excited to see other humans way out in all this wilderness. Or maybe it was just the fact that Eric is a beautiful giant that drew their attention.

"They must think you're some kind of forest nymph," he murmurs in my ear as a father paddles by with two young sons riding along in the boat. I smile, loving the fact that we're on nearly the same page. He bites my earlobe as he slides his hand across the ground behind me, leaning in. "A fairie, perched along the riverbank, having her lunch," he says, kissing down my neck. These are the sweetest sweet nothings ever.

"Hm...Tinkerbell?" I ask, smiling.

"Titania," he answers. Oh gosh.

"Does that make you Oberon?" I turn to him and he kisses me, the intensity slow but immediate. He catches my shoulders on his arm and leans into me and I lie back against him. His other hand comes up to cup my face, smoothing his fingers across my cheeks. He does this wonderful thing again where one moment I am sitting up and the next time I open my eyes I see only his face and the sky, my back resting on the ground, my head cradled in the crook of his arm. That's a smooth move right there. His hand trails down my neck and across my collar, down my side, resting at my hip. He doesn't move to take it further, we're in public after all. That does very little to prevent the effect this is having on both of us. I hear him shift and give a soft sigh.

The sound of a throat clearing breaks the spell. "Good afternoon, folks." Oh, Puck.

Eric pulls away, lifting his head. Briefly, upside-down, I see the tall figure of a park ranger standing a few feet away. I sit up quickly, brushing dirt out of my hair as Eric stands.

"Folks, I'm going to have to ask you to save that sort of thing for your home. We got families here."

"I think you'll agree I was working on that, sir," says Eric wickedly. Brazen! Oh Jesus Christ.

I couldn't look up at either of them. I quickly grabbed for the paper bag we'd brought our po-boys and sodas up in, gathering the napkins and bottles back into it, like a good little non-litterbug.

"I could see that, son," I hear the ranger reply. It sounds like he may have cracked a grin, but I'm too mortified to check. "But let's keep it g-rated in the park. You can be cited for public lewdness here in Mississippi."

"Certainly sir. Our apologies," he says, all sincerity.

"Uh-huh. You folks have a good day now. Don't forget to take your paper out. There's a garbage can at the trailhead."

I heard him walk off. I am still unable to turn around. I hear Eric failing to stifle his laughter. He comes around to stand in front of me. I had to shield my eyes to look up at him now that his back was to the sun. Good grief. Why does he insist on continuing to look like some sort of god with that golden light flowing all around him? He offers his hand to pull me up. I let him. I just stand there shaking my head for a minute, and all the while he's chuckling.

Finally I push against his chest. "_I was working on that, sir?_" I quote him exasperatedly. He laughs louder.

"Come on, Tinkerbell," he says, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "You heard the man, we need to keep this g-rated. No violence either!" he says, cringing away from my mock-withering glare.

Finally I broke down and laughed along with him. We wander back to the car, and somehow it seemed to take longer than the walk out had been. We were a bit fatigued by now. For once I found I had no problem matching Eric's pace. He stretched hugely before folding himself back into the car, walking ahead while I threw out the garbage and made a point of separating out the bottles to recycle.

"This was fun," he says as we turn out of the little parking lot.

"Yes," I agree.

It was going dark by the time we got back to the city and though we bandied about the idea of going out to dinner or a movie or a dance hall, we decided we'd rather stay in. So we ordered a movie and watched about half of it before getting distracted again. After finishing what we had started laying down the river, I found myself in bed, exhausted. He noticed me starting to drift off and left the room, returning with a folder and switching on the low lamp next to his side of the bed.

"Will the light bother you?" he asks.

"I don't think I could stay awake even if you tried to keep me up," I babble drowsily.

"Sleep then, I just want to read through this for a little while."

"Whassat?" I ask.

"It's the proposal Ms. Storbridge brought yesterday."

"I thought no work on weekends?" I pout, turning to curl my arm across his waist, nuzzling my head into his side. He brings his arm around my shoulders and holds the papers up over my head to peruse.

"I'm not ready to sleep yet. I just don't have any other time," he says, and I hear a touch of frustration in his voice.

"Mm. Sorry, baby," I mumble. "Sleep soon, okay?" I'm about three quarters there myself at this point. I think I give him a little pat and ran my toes up and down his calves for good measure.

"Soon," he agrees, bending to kiss the top of my head. I fall asleep to the soft shifting of papers and the warm feel of Eric.

I'm not sure how long he stayed up after I went to sleep, but I do know that when I woke up he was still deep asleep. I listened to him snore for a little while but eventually got up and showered. I felt the slight strain of the previous day's activities in my hips and my calves and the hot water felt sumptuous and assuaging. I washed and scrubbed and stretched, taking full advantage of the spacious chamber to enjoy the heat and steam. I hadn't bothered turning on the lights in here. Whether or not my head was just under the stream of water when he entered, or if I'd just grown comfortable around Eric to the point where I could fully relax without keeping a portion of my mind hyperaware of my surroundings, I didn't hear him come in. I didn't know he was there until his arms came around me.

I tensed instantly. His hands slid up my sides, one cupping my breast, the other pulling me tight against him. It wasn't sexy. He nuzzled into my neck, kissing me there, lapping at the water from the shower. He groaned. I could feel him hard against my back. I forced myself to breathe. He wasn't hurting me, and he wasn't here to hurt me. This is only Eric Northman. It feels like him, it smells like him, and I love being in this proximity to him in almost every circumstance. I was shaking, involuntarily.

"You're trembling," he rasped against my shoulder. The soft hoarse voice I normally melt for.

He turned me and pressed me back against the tile wall, warm from the water. Warm, not cold. Different. This is Eric. He kissed me. I couldn't kiss him back. My arms were rigid at my sides. I should be hugging him back or something. I should want to touch him right now.

"Sookie?" he asked, stopping, straightening up, stepping away. I breathed again.

His hands came to my shoulders and rested there, but then he moved them away. "Sookie?" he asked again.

"Please put on the lights," I whispered. He left. The lights switched on. I was under the stream of water again with my eyes wide open facing the entry when he returned. I rinsed off quickly and scooted past him. I was going to have to explain that now. I dried off and put on underwear and a robe. I was sitting on the bed towelling my hair when he emerged very shortly later. I had forced myself calm. He was standing in the doorway, a large towel wrapped around his hips, apparently too put off to come anywhere near me.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yes, I am sorry about that," I say. I can't really look at him. My hair is going to be a rats nest of tangles but rubbing it brutally dry is a wonderful use for all this tense energy I am filled with.

"And what was _that_, exactly?"

"Just a stress reaction. I'm really sorry, normally I'm more aware than that, you just startled me, is all."

"You've been...attacked."

"Um. Yes. Listen, that almost never happens to me anymore, it was just a perfect storm of similarities right then. I'm sorry if I've freaked you out, but if you could just forget it, I would really appreciate it."

"No, I don't think I can."

I bit my lip. So, I was damaged goods and that is a deal-breaker for him. Well, that's... That's awful, actually, but I think I have always known that this would come up sooner or later with someone. Bill had not minded very much, and that had been a huge relief. It's not like it's something I would divulge if I didn't have to, but at some point in a relationship I guess you must. Some guys just won't want to deal with it, and that's fine. I am sure there are some problems a partner could have that I wouldn't want to deal with if I had the choice. Leprosy. Gambling addiction.

I nod at him. "Okay."

I quickly stand up and pull some clothes from the top of my suitcase. I've got to go now. I hurriedly pull on jeans and a shirt and shift past him into the bathroom so I can brush out my hair and grab my toothbrush from in there. I moved double-time, dragging a brush through my wet hair, ripping through the tangles. I parted it in a neat line and just pulled it back into a tight ponytail. I held the brush and toothbrush in my hand and turned toward the bathroom door. I don't know why he is still standing there. He put his hand out to bar my path.

"Where are you taking those?" he gestures to my brush and my toothbrush.

"Amelia's," I tell him. "I have meetings in town tomorrow and Tuesday. Listen Eric, again, I'm really sorry. For everything."

"You need to stop this now," he states.

I look up at him. He takes the brushes out of my hand and throws them toward the bed and I hear them bounce lightly as they land and he pulls me into a hug before I can push away from him. I wouldn't have even if I had the choice. I loved his arms around me.

"I'm not going to _forget it_. I don't want to do that to you again if I can help it. I didn't know. _I'm_ sorry."

"Eric, that's real nice of you to say, but this is just... I don't want you to have to think about this, nor to have to be careful with me. I don't really expect you to understand."

"Sookie." He's asking for my attention so I meet his eyes again. "I _do_ understand."

I blink several times as he holds my gaze, letting what he has just said sink in and at last I let my arms come up around him and clutch him to me in return, as surely as he is doing. I don't cry or anything. It's not that kind of moment. It's just him and I realizing another thing we have in common. I don't feel the need to ask him about it, any more than I feel the need to offer him my own sad details. We'll talk about it sometime, but right now, everything that needs to be said has been said, and it is okay. I tucked my head against his chest and we just stood there for a while in the embrace.

"Come dry your hair," he says when he releases me.

I nod and follow him back into the bathroom. I had to be a bit careful with the dryer because I'd really done a number on my scalp brushing my hair so violently. When I finished, he took the hairdryer and did his own hair. I fixed my makeup and it turned out pretty. I turn to leave and he gives me an odd look.

"You forgot to kiss," he says, pointing at the mirror. I lean up and kiss him on the cheek, instead. He catches my mouth and kisses me back and as he's doing so it hits me again that yes, this actually is okay. I broke the kiss with that thought powering my smile and he cocked his eyebrow in response but I just shook my head and walked past him out of the room. I pulled at the towel he was still clad in as I went, and causing it to fall.

"Get dressed!" I squeal, suddenly impelled to move away faster.

I must have shocked him, because I was actually able to get away. He can catch me in only a couple of steps if he tries with that crazy wingspan of his. I was out in the front room a few minutes later when he came out of the bedroom dressed in jeans and a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled back to his elbows.

"Hey handsome," I say. I just can't resist telling him.

"Hey beautiful," he croons. Mmm.

It was too early to go to Inge's, but too late to have a big breakfast or brunch, so we simply went downstairs and walked to a coffee shop and had pastry and got our caffeine fix. After that we walked around enjoying the warmth of the day. We went around the little park in front of St. Louis Cathedral. It seemed like as good a place as any to say a silent prayer and so I did, thanking God for the safety of Jason and Crystal and Amelia, and for Eric's understanding. I felt him squeeze my hand as he noticed my abstraction and I smiled at him and we walked on. We decided to drive to his grandmother's house so we ambled back to the hotel to retrieve his car.

Inge Northman looked like she was dressed for church when she joined us, in a pale yellow pantsuit with pearls. I felt a little embarrassed that Eric and I were just in jeans. We didn't look shabby but maybe I should have gone up and changed into a skirt. I suppose since together we outnumbered her it was okay. Greta had greeted us warmly at the door and showed us through to the patio where the table was laid for lunch and Inge had come out moments later. Eric greeted his grandmother with a kiss on the cheek and an affectionate, "Fahma."

"I'm glad you two could come," she smiled as we sat down, making a point of looking on me as well as Eric.

"Thank you for having us," I said.

We chatted for a while about me, my job, the summer program, the house I was hoping to rent. She supplied to me herself that she'd heard about it, volunteering that she had sung my praises. I confessed that I was worried they would hate me because Eric wasn't interested in dating Eloise. She laughed at that, assuring me that they'd been trying to find a match for Eloise since she was eighteen and wouldn't take it too much to heart. Poor Eloise, I thought.

Inge told me about Sten's club house, as she called it, and how he would have lived out there if she had let him. I found myself smiling at that. It was nice to hear her speak of her husband fondly. I also took her remarks with some measure of approval for the house I was hoping to live in. I had vaguely worried if I would encounter any snobbery about her grandson dating someone who lived in one of her friends' outbuildings. I was relieved this wasn't the case. Eric seemed content to let us talk. Inge shared some gossip about her other acquaintances. I recognized Patti's name, her husband was having a surgery, but by and large the people she spoke of were unfamiliar to me. Eric had nodded several times in acknowledgement though, so I suppose they were family friends.

"Eric, have you heard from your father lately?" Inge asks.

Predictably, Eric tenses. "Not since he offered to buy us out for your pension, Fahma," he answers stiffly.

"He has not rescinded that offer," she remarks. Very quickly the grandmother seemed to fade and a sharp, shrewd old woman was sitting in her place. "Did you receive the prospectus on the property in Hawaii?"

"Yes. Ms. Storbridge brought it by on Friday."

"Hmph. You watch out for that one," she says, glancing at me briefly then back at Eric. I admit, I felt mildly vindicated at that. I said nothing of course, as this conversation concerned me not at all. "Have you had a chance to look it over?"

"Last night," he agrees.

"Your grandfather wanted this. He has been waiting for that land to go up for sale for a decade."

"I realize that, but I am not sure this is the right time to build. Neither for the company, nor us personally," he says.

"Your father intends to bid as well."

"Against us?"

"Yes. He called me to let me know that he intended to carry on my husband's work in this way, by building the resort Sten wished for."

"He will cut into that forest and build one of his Las Vegas monstrosities," Eric replies dully, with resignation.

"Yes," she agrees. "And that is of course not what Sten and I had envisioned in the least."

"No," Eric agrees. "No, I saw the draft work. I don't know what architect you had draw that, but it was certainly intriguing."

"Eric you will need to bid."

"Can we afford it?" he sighs.

"I will help."

"Fahma," Eric begins.

"We do not have to rush out and begin construction this year. I am simply asking you to please buy this property."

"Why are we doing this today?" he asks, pained.

She glances at me again. "You make it difficult to do things any other way," she states plainly. "I am sorry Sookie. I am pleased to see you of course, but my grandson resists his inheritance. In this instance, I cannot but act as I might to gain his undivided attention." Cunning and blunt. Family traits, most definitely. I gave her a slight nod. I glanced sidelong at Eric, who resembled the shallow side of livid.

I moved my chair back and made to excuse myself but Eric caught my arm. "Stay," he requested. I settled back down and saw Inge nod with approval. "How much over value is he planning to pay?" Eric asks his grandmother.

"Enough," she answers. "He is both disciplining you, and lashing out at me."

Eric snorted with mirthless laughter. "He is your son."

"And I love him of course," she says naturally. Ugh. This family.

"Fine," Eric concedes.

"Fine, you will do as I ask?" she tries to clarify.

"I do not have the time to do smart business on this. Not speculate, not evaluate. I will do it because you ask."

"It is a solid investment."

"And I must take your word on that apparently," he says testily.

"Can you call a meeting with the managers for us this week?" she asks.

"I will ask Pam to find the time," he says.

"Thank you," she says. She picks up a little bell that I had not noticed on the lunch tray. It had been tucked behind the centrepiece. Greta appears after a short tinkling ring. "Please clear and bring the raspberry torte," she requests. Inge Northman turns to me with a smile, the grandmother once again. "You will love this. It's from the most charming bakery. Honey and raspberry and vanilla cream," she gushes.

I heard Eric sigh.


	20. The Reigning Queen

Eric became a passive observer for the rest of our afternoon with Inge. She'd manoeuvred him flawlessly. If it weren't for the fact that she'd used me in the process, I'd have said I was real impressed. Let's face it, I was real impressed anyway. She'd had him bring me along on the pretence of a friendly visit and then she'd cornered him with something she wanted for the business that she knew he had planned to ignore. It was time sensitive, and he was too busy to put together a reasoned objection. She'd used Viktor as both the carrot and the stick all while keeping potential profit as her bottom line. Watching her in action had been arresting.

On top of everything with their business, she invited me to try a new restaurant with her on Tuesday and I somehow found that I'd agreed before I even stopped to consider if Eric would be okay with that. (It's _not_ that I'd ever let him dictate my lunch dates in the general course, but he would have been entitled to voice an opinion on his girlfriend having lunch with his grandmother.) When I realized this and glanced over at him he just waved a hand dismissively as if in acknowledgement that either of us was completely powerless in the face of the force that was Inge Northman. I mean really, are you going to be rude to a little old lady in Easter dress? Of course you're not, and she knew it. Masterful!

My first hand experience had granted me a much clearer understanding of why Eric treated her like something to be avoided. It was all fine and smiles until she wanted something her way and then, by golly, she got it. Thankfully in this case it didn't appear to be anything that Eric was directly opposed to, but simply something he hadn't otherwise planned on doing. I don't think he would have resigned so quickly if he had a real opinion. He was more or less sulking by the time we got back to his car. I turned in my seat before buckling up and rubbed his arm.

"You alright?" I ask.

"Yes," he sighs. "You don't have to have lunch with her. You can call her tomorrow and cancel. She achieved her main objective. She likely won't be upset if you skip the other."

"Would you prefer I didn't go?"

"I have no preference. She seems to like you. She was very candid with you, and in your presence."

"Well, that certainly seems better than her not liking me."

"Yes," he agrees quickly. "And, I'm sure you'll hear from your agent tomorrow that Mrs. Batiment finally called her today."

My eyes widen. "Really? You think she'll nudge her friend now that she's pleased with you?"

He chuckles. "No. That's quite a bit kinder than what I'm thinking." I just look at him expectantly until he clarifies, "I think she was holding that card _until_ I agreed to abide her wishes."

"Oh jeez Eric," I sigh. I can feel the pained expression on my face.

"I could be wrong," he offers.

"But you don't think you are."

"No." He shifts the car into gear, wrapping his arm around the back of my seat as he reverses out of the driveway and we head off back toward the hotel.

We didn't have anything to do with ourselves. It was too early to think about going out for dinner, and anyway we'd just come from lunch. It was also too late to go out and do anything else. I didn't feel like watching a movie or television so I just grabbed a book and settled on the couch. Eric had a book too but when he didn't come to join me right away I looked up over the back of the sofa to find him standing a few feet away with a torn expression. His dining table-desk was calling to him.

"Will it bother you if I work for a while?" he asks resignedly.

I frown. "Do you need me to go?" I ask.

"No. No, not at all. I just want to read through the rest of this. I told her I wouldn't have time to do the homework on this property but I... can't not. I can't show up at this meeting this week like the boy being dragged along by his granny. I need to go in there knowing what the fuck I'm talking about." he sighs. "I _hate_ this." I watched as he drew a hand through his hair, angrily pulling it back, but lacking a tie to secure it. He seemed about halfway toward a very boyish temper tantrum. I set my book down and went over to him, taking away his own novel and putting it down on the table. I wrapped my arms around his back and stroked soothingly.

"It's not for much longer," I try to comfort, meaning, at least, that it's not much longer that he'll be strapped for time constantly. I can offer no consolation regarding Inge in general. He folds one arm around me, half-heartedly. I shook my head and lead him to his chair, sitting him down. He moved to lean forward to open his laptop but I put my hand down on his, shaking my head. "Just a minute," I tell him, and go to retrieve my brush and an elastic band from the bathroom.

I set these things down on the table and stood behind him and rubbed his shoulders. I kneaded the muscles across his upper back and stroked down his arms. When he finally seemed to relax against the chair after several minutes, I took up the brush and started on his hair. I drew long slow sweeps from the roots to the tips, holding my fingers above any tangles so it wouldn't pull as I worked them loose. Once that was done, I ran my fingers through it, lightly rubbing his scalp and then began to wind his hair into a French braid. It wasn't stellar hairdressing, but that was hardly the point. When I was finished I wound the elastic around the end and bent to kiss his exposed neck. He breathed a softer sigh so I let my fingers replace my lips as I withdrew, caressing across the tense tendons. I let my hands work across his shoulders and upper arms again, sometimes dropping to his chest. He let out the occasional low moan.

When I bent to kiss the crook of his neck again (I couldn't help myself really), he caught me and turned and kissed me, and I moved around and bent my head towards him so we could do that properly. I pulled away and told him to hold that thought and I went and got a cushion from the couch and set it on the floor in front of his chair. He grimaced as I lowered myself on to it. His expression was twisted in the bizarre amalgam of, "Woohoo, I'm going to get a blowjob," and "Sookie, You don't have to do that."

I want to though, so I simply whisper, "Please?" and he nods at me, his weak internal battle ending as I predicted it would. I push apart his legs and lean forward, kissing his chest while I pull his button and fly loose. He presses his hands into the arms of the chair and forces his hips up so I can pull his jeans away while he shifts forward. I stroke down his thighs and his calves while I free his legs and then lean in to tease him with soft wet kisses until he hardens. It takes no time at all. I wrap my fingers around his base and swirl my tongue across his tip, letting my saliva pool in my mouth, wetting my lips so that a moment later as I take him, I take him as fully as I can. I swallow involuntarily drawing his moan as I manage to take him just a little further. I can't help but hum in response as he makes his pleasure known. His hand comes to the nape of my neck, fisting around my hair at the roots in a way that lets him hold tight without hurting. I lean up a bit, giving myself a better angle over him before I start to move.

I pull my hands back and let my fingertips run feather light across his inner thighs, over his sac, feeling the skin wrinkle and tauten beneath my touch. I try to meet every buck of his hips with a moan until my pace quickens to the point where I can do no more than hollow my cheeks as I slide my tongue across him as I bob. I feel him spasm and know he is coming almost before he does and he cries out suddenly pulling my head down to meet his thrust and I swallow and gasp and swallow again until finally I feel the tension leave him all at once and his fingers go soft in my hair as he softens in my mouth. He groans as I pull away from him, but I wrap my arms around his waist and press the side of my face into his abdomen, just hugging him to me for a long moment.

Finally I sit back on my heels and look up at him to find his warm, glazed eyes meeting mine with that lazy adoration that always follows his orgasm. I smile faintly. "That is a much better look for you, than your angry face," I tell him.

"Thank you," he says. For the compliment, for the service, whatever.

I stood up and gave him a peck on the lips. I went to the mini-fridge and got out a bottle of juice for him. He had fluids to replenish. Then I shot him a coy little smirk and went and rinsed out my mouth with some mouthwash in the bathroom. I wasn't going to let him get out of work entirely, so as we wouldn't be continuing right this minute, I wasn't going to sit here for the next couple of hours with that taste in my mouth. I wasn't trying to be un-sexy or anything, it was just practical. When I returned moments later I found him standing. He'd put himself to rights and was just throwing the cushion back on the couch. He caught me up and gave me a wonderfully passionate kiss, dipping me back playfully, forcing me to cling to him out of instinct. I didn't think he'd drop me but my body wasn't taking any chances.

He pulled me up and tight against him again and kissed the crown of my head. "You're perfect," he said. Kiss.

"You're easy," I laugh at him. I pull back a little to look up at him. "And now you have work. At least ninety minutes of work," I scold him gently.

"Yes," he agrees. With that he scoops me up and I squeal and he carries me the few paces to the couch and sets me down. He hands me my book. "I will meet you back here in ninety minutes," he concludes, giving me a final kiss before leaving me to move all eight feet away.

I stretched myself out and got comfortable, taking time before I got to my book to reflect that that had gone quite well. I had been a little nervous that he'd be weird with me about sex stuff for a while, as Bill had been. I really wanted to stop comparing Eric to Bill, but I couldn't help it. Bill had more or less avoided me sexually for a couple of weeks after he'd wrenched my confession from me. That's how it had been, too. He'd demanded the details, and that made it so much worse. In the end, I'd had to seduce him quite wantonly before he'd been willing to touch me again. He'd been quite worked up when he finally gave in. He had said it was because he didn't want to further traumatize me, but really all he'd done was make me feel like more of a freak. Eric just let me be. He had said he understood, and just now, he had shown me that. I didn't want my bad experience to hang over me, or us, and he hadn't let it. I'm pretty sure I could be in love with him for that alone.

Eric worked for almost two hours before joining me on the couch, pulling my stockinged feet into his lap and rubbing them. I moaned in pleasure, closing my book and letting my head fall back. He threw in a little tickling when he deemed I was getting a bit too relaxed and nearly got kicked in the place I'd so worshipfully attended to a little while ago.

"Did you get your work done?" I ask him.

"Yes," he agrees. "Thank you."

I wiggle my toes in his now still hands. "You may keep thanking me if you want," I grin.

"Oh may I?" he inquires.

I nod. He pulls my socks off and goes back to massaging my feet, pressing his thumbs into a dozen different pressure points in ways that have me wondering if he's studied a reflexology chart at some point. At least two of the spots he's hitting seem to connect directly up my thighs in a very Hello Kitty kind of way. Mmm. I smile contentedly for a while as he continues before declaring myself appeased. I turn myself around so my head is laying in his lap, instead. I'm practically purring my contentment at this point, a very happy girl indeed. I hear his stomach growl and snicker.

"Hungry?" I ask.

"I want steak," he supplies after a moment's pondering. "I can go pick it up."

"Do you get tired of not having a kitchen?"

"Only occasionally."

"Well I do. When I'm here, that is. Don't you miss," I gesture expansively, at nothing in particular. "Groceries? A coffee pot? Soup?"

"I don't really keep groceries. Sometimes they bring them, I don't know. A lot of it spoils, I think. It's not like at your house where there's just food around you can make."

"Who's they?" I ask him.

"The housekeeping service. Sometimes Pam."

I frown at that. I feel his hand come up to cradle my chin and his thumb trace over my lips. "Sometimes when you talk about your life, it seems very sad to me," I tell him. It's really the only thought in my head at the moment.

He laughs at that. "Because I don't have soup?"

"Because you don't seem to have a home. You just...live somewhere."

"I don't really see the distinction there."

"And that is _also_ profoundly sad," I tell him, wistfully, catching his hand and giving his palm a kiss.

We stayed for a bit longer like that until Eric's hunger for man-food could not be ignored and he brought his laptop over to show me the menu for a restaurant he liked. It wasn't a take out menu, but he said they would do it anyway. I just took his word for it and chose the salmon. He phoned the restaurant and indeed, they were quite willing to pack an order for him to pick up there. He went to retrieve dinner and I called down to room service and asked them to bring us up some plates and knives and forks and a bottle of wine. They arrived just before Eric got back and we were actually managed to have something resembling a proper Sunday dinner. He even cleared the table, or at least, he closed his laptop and stacked all his papers neatly on top of it. We sat at the other end. It was fine.

We watched a little bit of television after that, but decided to make an early night of it. I didn't bother changing for bed, I just crawled in naked and he joined me in the same state. I fell asleep with him curled around me and my last peaceful thoughts were ones of resonant well-being. I was happy.

I woke early Monday morning to delightful discovery that he'd woken earlier than me. I shivered to realize both that the blankets had been pulled away from me and that Eric was nuzzling the inside of my thigh. He kissed lightly there, running his cheek and chin, scratchy with morning stubble, lightly across that sensitive skin. I gave a deep sigh of pleasure as my eyes opened, focusing on his. I stroked my fingertips lightly across his forehead and down to trace his jaw. I leaned forward and claimed a kiss before lying back again, to lose myself to bliss. His tongue on me was soft and languorous and it wasn't awfully long before he had me in a frenzy, twisting my hips, straining against his mouth, wanting more of him. It felt so good, and I was ready to come. I whimpered, and he slid his arm beneath me as my hips bucked up. He held me fast in place with a dull growl that warned me not to argue him and then resumed his slow attentions.

I fisted my hands into the sheets as my legs began to tremble and then I felt the wave rise in me as if sighted from a mile off shore. It rolled steady, steady towards me seeming to take forever. He licked and kissed and suckled my lips, my clit, across my entrance with the gentlest pressure and suddenly the wave was crashing to the shore, dragging me with it, and I cried out in honest ecstasy and was aware of nothing until I let my wet eyes open again to see him hovering above me. He kissed me deeply, pushed inside, ground against me, and I shook all over with a moan once again. I held my hand to his cheek and I couldn't look away from him. I watched his eyes dart from mine, to my breasts, to the point of our joining, and was mesmerized by their vibrant blue. My other arm traced up his side between us, grasping tighter as he began to quicken his pace. His eyes squeezed shut as he came with a mighty groan, letting his head drop to my breast. His arms came around me and he held some of his weight on them while his hips fell against me. I stroked his hair, his brow, his back. He shivered again as he withdrew from me. He rolled to his side and carried me with him.

When our breathing slowed he loosened his arms though neither of us moved to shift away.

"That was amazing," I breathed in hushed voice. Somehow I felt it would be almost blasphemous not to address the last half hour with some reverence.

"You're beautiful," is how he answered. "Even as you sleep..." he trailed off. I squeezed him tighter again.

It was only because we'd slept and risen early that we had that time, so it wasn't long before we had to get up and ready for the day. He headed into the bathroom and flipped on every light (there were actually four different switches, and then the fan). I was momentarily torn between being embarrassed after yesterday and finding it sweet, and decided to settle on the side of sweet. I considered briefly that maybe, if it stayed good between us, somewhere down the line we could try his 'in the dark' thing, if I was prepared for it. It could be good for me, maybe, to try. But not today, though.

His phone rang while he was drying his hair. It was Pam, and he gestured for me to answer it. I'd already finished doing my hair while he was shaving.

"Hello, Eric Northman's phone," I sang.

"Oh for God's sake Sookie. The weekend is over," she shot back instantly.

"Goor morning Pammy," I grinned. "Nice flight?"

"Where is Eric? Did you screw him to death?"

"He's drying his hair. Where are you?"

"Waiting for these oompah loompahs to make their magical conveyor work so I can get mine and Eric's things and get the hell out of humanity's cesspool." Baggage claim, got it.

"Should I get him, or do you want me to just let him know you're here?"

"Let him know I'll be there in an hour. And what about you? What is your schedule for today?" Pam demands. It must just be out of habit.

"I've got a faculty meeting this afternoon, my first one ever!" I gush. "And this morning I need to finish drafting my curriculum for tomorrow."

"Very good, what time is the meeting, and when does it end?"

"Uh, three-thirty and, I'm not sure how long they usually last. First one, like I said."

"Very well. Have lunch with me? Eric tells me you have been having more adventures in Hicksville and I want to hear all about it."

I smirk. "Sounds fine, Pam."

"What is that noise? Is he still on his hair?"

"Yes," I confirm.

"When are you going to make him cut it?"

I gasped, in earnest. "Pam! Bite your tongue!"

"Just checking," she quips.

I finished up in the bathroom and left him there to get dressed. I wasn't going to fuss around later with a special outfit for my meeting. I put on a knee length skirt and a twin set and some flats, the sort of thing I'd wear to teach in. I got out my own laptop and work bag and set my things up at the proper desk in the front room, since Eric didn't use it. I'd asked him if he minded my working here and he didn't. My alternative was Amelia's kitchen table, so this was just as well. There was a knock on the door and I got up to get the breakfast only to discover David Threadgill standing there already dressed for the day's business and carrying his briefcase. I invite him in of course and go to tell Eric, closing the bedroom door behind me as I enter.

"Is the coffee here?" he asks looking up. He's all half-tucked without his cufflinks in so his sleeves are flaring out. His collar is up since while his tie is draped around his neck, it isn't yet tied. The Eric Northman scale of looks runs only from drop dead sexy to gosh darned adorable with no negative measurements. Right now he was registering as charming and cute. It nearly distracted me from telling him about his guest.

"No, it's David Threadgill," I supply.

"Ugh, he's early. How long until Pam gets here?"

"Probably forty-five minutes. Need me to vamoose?" I ask.

"No. No, I'll take him downstairs. Do you mind playing hostess for another minute, I'll be right out." I watched as he deftly wrapped his tie into a perfect Half Windsor and flipped his collar down. He paused in the mirror only to make sure it was straight.

"You'll miss breakfast," I pout.

"Save mine for Pam."

I head back out and spend an awkward few minutes offering David a bottle of juice from the mini-bar fridge and inquiring if he was well, and how warm and breezy the weather was expected to be today, and how tedious morning traffic was as a general rule. I wasn't particularly inclined to be nice to him, since he was, after all, among those directly responsible for trying to screw over Eric in his work, and making him totally stressed out all the time. Hopefully I did a good job of concealing my coolness. Eric reappeared just as the breakfast came up and he took time to have a single cup of coffee before I got a chaste kiss goodbye and a wish for good luck at my meeting and then he and David were gone.

I sipped my own coffee alone and watched the morning news until Pam turned up. She had a large suitcase and garment bag in tow, which I realized were full of Eric's things only once she walked right into the bedroom and started unpacking them for him. I told her that he had gone off with David Threadgill and left her breakfast but she wasn't interested in eating it. She was going down to the spa to be pampered for a couple of hours and wasn't expected to be at work until the afternoon. She'd apparently spent a lot of her weekend in Seattle tending to Eric's things. She'd be back for lunch. So I got to work on my own and there I stayed for a few hours until she returned.

My only interruption that morning was a call from Claudine. Margaret "Madge" Batiment had called her office first thing to inform her that my credit and background had checked out and she was ready to rent to me. Heh. My background indeed! I just needed to come down to her office and sign and present a check for my rent and the deposit, as well as Claudine's fee. I told her I'd stop in before my meeting. I sent Eric a text and he responded with a slightly more elegant version of _I told you so_. I had believed him, unfortunately, so it really wasn't necessary.

So I had that good news to share with Pam when she turned up for lunch. We went down and enjoyed a light repast while I filled her in on everything that had happened with Jason's house. She took it seriously and expressed due concern for their situation which I took kindly. It wasn't really the sort of thing where jibes at my redneck brother or our hillbilly town would have been appreciated in the slightest, and I was glad she realized it wasn't the time to tease. We weren't long, and went back together to the hotel, parting at the elevator as we went to retrieve our respective work things. I picked up my bag and headed for the bank to have them cut the checks and took them over to Claudine's office. I signed the lease and we called Madge to let her know that Claudine would drop it by along with my rent, forthwith. Madge would be happy to receive me in the morning to hand over the keys, since I didn't really have time to drive over there now.

My faculty meeting was interesting. They were preparing for the end of the school year and scheduling test dates in the main, so that part wasn't really pertinent to me, but I was glad to see that these things were done on a school-wide level. I had found in my couple of years with the Parish that I had to hunt down teachers in the other departments myself to ensure my students would have minimal conflicts on test days. I remembered how unpleasant that was - having multiple big tests on the same day. I was glad to find that Peterson was considerate of their students this way. In the end it probably helped their test scores, which would reflect well on the school as a whole. I got to mingle with the other math teachers which I enjoyed. They were all kind and welcoming. I also got the chance to speak to some of the other teachers involved in the summer program as well. As a rule, we were all fairly young, definitely under forty. That was probably appropriate to the general theme of summer fun, people closer to the students' ages. They all seemed great.

I got back to hotel in the evening and had another couple of hours to finish working on my curriculum. What I was technically asked to provide was an overview of the theme for each of the two programs, as well as sample classes for each session. Since I was trying very hard to make a good impression, I pulled some photographs up which I would include as either slides or hand-outs during the actual program. I'd have to stop by a print shop in the morning. There was a business office downstairs which I know Pam used sometimes, but I was planning to go a little overboard trying to impress people, so I'd have proper folders made up and everything. Worst case scenario, we all have a chuckle at my overzealous keen. Better to be over-prepared than under-prepared as Gran would have said.

Pam had called to let me know they were going to be quite late and I didn't mind. I wondered vaguely whether she had done that on her own, or if Eric had asked her to. It was nice to be informed, either way. I thought briefly about men who didn't call their wives to tell them they'd miss dinner from working late. Clearly everyone needs their own Pam. After I'd finished everything I could do here in the room in preparation for tomorrow, I phoned Amelia to let her know that I had gotten my rental of choice. She sounded more pleased and relieved than I'd expected. I guess I hadn't done a very good job of downplaying my anxiousness last week.

When Eric finally did turn up he was in an excellent mood, which was contagious. I was glad to see it since I imagined his day had not started off very well considering our early morning caller. We watched a movie and then decided to take a bath before bed. He was being particularly playful with a bar of heavenly scented soap. He had me squirming and splashing.

"So," he says, finally letting me settle back against his chest. This is a really great place to be, by the way. "Tomorrow you get your keys, and see Fahma, and then your big presentation in the afternoon?"

"Yup," I agree.

"And then you go back to Bon Temps to start packing?"

"That, or I will go Wednesday morning if you don't mind me for another night."

"Actually I had an alternative thought on that subject," he says, and I tilt my head back to look at him, letting him know to continue. "I've taken the day on Friday. I'll have my meeting with the Northman Group in the morning, and after that I'm free. I propose you stay until then, and we can get one of these moving trucks and drive up and pack you up on Saturday, then drive back Sunday morning and unload everything."

"Wow, really?" I ask. That's a really generous offer.

"Correct me if I am wrong, but helping your girlfriend move seems like a _particularly boyfriendy_ thing to do. Am I getting that usage correct? The phrase is still new to me."

"You are getting everything correct," I say, still fairly astonished. "Are you sure you wouldn't mind though? I mean it's a lot of driving and hauling things around and as near as Claudine and I figured it's going to be a bit of a jigsaw puzzle getting my new bed to fit through the hall."

"I'm sure we'll manage."

"Well then yes! I mean, that's amazingly kind of you to offer."

"Not really. By doing it this way, I will get you for three or four extra nights. And of course after this, I will be losing my excuse to have you stay with me here, so I must make the best of it for now."

"Well hopefully you will stay over at my place now sometimes," I say. Actually my voice went up a bit at the end there, so it's a half say, half ask.

"That will be nice. Perhaps I can keep a toothbrush in the little holder." I'd told him all about the bathroom.

"Of course," I say smiling. I grab his arms and pull them tighter around me.

When I turned up at Madge Batiment's house the following morning, she was gracious as anything and we talked a bit about the particulars of how she wanted to receive the rent (by check, in person, before the first of the month when she was in town, or by mail, to their summer house, postmarked by the last day of the month, when she was out of town). She gave me a brief tour of her house and the property. I was delighted to discover that their "patio" included an irregularly shaped pool with a little stone waterfall. Her landscaping was stunning.

"We've hardly used the pool since the kids left," she comments. "So feel free. It would be nice if somebody used it again!" she laughs. Well thank you Madge, won't mind if I will. Actually I would probably be a little ill at ease if I knew they were at home, but I would certainly be tempted to avail myself when they were out of town.

She told me which company they used for the pool service, and their housekeeper who came once a week while they were out of town, and three times a week when they weren't. She told me who they used for their lawn service. She gave me a little card she written out with all of this information, as well as contacts for the security company, the utilities, the local police precinct and fire station. I briefly scanned down the list expecting to see poison and animal control, it was that thorough! After we'd finished in front she walked me back to the house which was separated from the rest of the property by trees and a hedgerow and a little path of slate stepping stones through the grass. You could still see the house of course, but likely not directly into the windows. She handed over two sets of keys, letting me know that she kept a spare as well, for emergencies. And of course because she owned the property, I'd thought. It was expected that she'd have a key.

We exchanged cell phone numbers. She assured me I'd almost never hear from her, but from all we'd chatted about, the many things I just _had_ to see and she wanted to show me, I had a feeling that she was going to treat me very much like a neighbour. I found I didn't mind that at all. Madge let me know that she and her husband would be in town through the following week, and encouraged me to stop over in the evening at some point so that I could meet him as well. So that I wouldn't assume he was some stranger if I saw him "skulking about the place." I chuckled when she said that. It was his place!

"My boyfriend is actually going to help me move my stuff in on Sunday, so I'll be sure to stop by when we get in."

"Oh, Eric Northman, yes? I know Inge of course. She is on the board with me at one of my charities. She is so thrilled to have him back home all the time, she talks about him endlessly."

I nod politely as she says this. It's a sticky subject, but a polite nod will not go amiss.

"When she told me he was dating a lovely girl named Sookie, I thought it was the most odd coincidence after we'd met, so I asked her, 'Stackhouse?' and she said 'Yes!' and then we realized you were one in the same!"

"That we are. I'm actually meeting her for lunch today," I agree. She may or may not be omitting a whole big chunk of that conversation, but it's by the by. I've signed the lease. It's a happy ending.

"Oh that will be lovely. She's such a firecracker, that one. Whenever we need to get tough with someone, it's always 'Get Inge on it!'" she laughs. I cannot imagine what kind of charity work requires you to 'get tough' with people, but I absolutely believe that she can command any situation, and that's what I tell her.

"I believe it," I grin.

She showed me a few more things about the apartment before we left, where the jacks and outlets were, which switches were for the fans. It was very comprehensive morning, in all. We locked up and she reminded me always to flip the deadbolt. They had never had any problems but her neighbour two streets over had been robbed one summer, and I shouldn't take any chances. I wouldn't. It's not like city-living was new to me. I knew it wasn't like Bon Temps were locking the door seemed almost silly most of the time. We said goodbye after that and I stopped over at the print shop to get my stuff ready for the meeting then hastened back to the hotel to change and freshen up. Yes, I was primping a little bit in preparation for meeting Inge. There's nothing wrong with wanting to maintain a good impression with your boyfriend's relations.

I met Inge at a restaurant in the Garden District not far from her house. Though they had outdoor dining, and though it was plenty warm enough, we sat inside. I ordered a sweet tea and she ordered an unsweetened one. To each her own. I wasn't entirely sure what we should talk about, so when given the opportunity I took to explaining to her about my summer program and teaching in general. It was a very safe topic, one that was distinctly not "Eric." That lasted a good fifteen minutes, allowing for her interested questions, but it did not last the whole lunch.

"I must tell you Sookie, it is so nice to see my Eric starting to settle down with such a nice young woman."

I smile at that. "Oh, it's a bit soon to say we're settling down I think but we're certainly happy for right now."

"Nonsense," she objects. "You may not have noticed this of course, but Eric does not like to see a lot of his family." She looks me directly in the eye, and for the life of me I cannot discern whether or not she is being facetious. After a beat she continues, "And the fact that he has been so willing to let us see _you_ of course is quite telling. I cannot recall having ever met one of Eric's girls before, except in passing."

And what does one say to that, really? "Well I... am very fond of Eric," I say.

"And he of you, I am quite certain. If I may say so, I believe he would have fought a lot harder against taking up the mantle at NG if he did not have something else important to him here in New Orleans."

"I love that you call it NG!" I blurt out. "It seems so weird to call it the full company name, when it's your last name," I explain.

She gives me a wan smile. "Yes, and these acronyms make it sound very modern and _big_, don't they?" I nod. "When really, it is just a family business that my father and Sten's started way long ago." She says it fondly, obviously quite proud.

"Is it?" I ask. I hadn't known that. I'd assumed that Sten had started it.

"Well, in a way, I suppose. My father bought his first hotel when I was very young, about a year after the Great Crash. He got it for a steal, as the previous owner had lost a large part of his fortune, and of course, most people were not going on holiday at that time."

I nod again, very interested. "And he worked very hard with it. Well, we all did really. I had two sisters, and we all worked as assistant maids, and eventually maids ourselves for a time, and my mother was the head of housekeeping in the beginning. My father was the manager, and he used what money he had left over, and everything that came our way, to make improvements, always making improvements. He would hire the men out of work, local fellows, you know, right off the work lines," she recalls.

"And my mother thought he was mad at first, I mean, he was working toward refurbishing it as a luxury establishment, in the middle of the Great Depression, can you imagine? Their friends all thought they were mad, I'll tell you that. But of course what my father knew is that the truly wealthy were largely untouched by such minor events as the mere economy, and so we began to make a name for ourselves, and then, as the New Deal started coming through, and things were began to get better, business was booming as they say. You know Franklin Roosevelt actually stayed at our hotel twice. He actually shook my father's hand once," she says proudly.

"That's amazing!" I exlaim.

"Yes," she agrees. "He was what you would call a self-made man. And my sisters were both able to marry well, which of course was very important in those days. More so than now," she says, with a glance at me. "But I did not have the suitors they did, so I stayed on. We were able to afford my education, and when I finished I came back and was my father's, well, the hotel's, accountant, and I would help him with the business part of things, while my mother continued to manage the staff."

I smile at that, because so many women of her era were _not_ classically educated, and somehow it made me think a little better of her, that she had concerned herself with becoming so, when she didn't have to be. It wasn't necessarily expected back then, certainly not like now.

"And that is how I met Sten, because one day he and _his_ father came into our hotel, and tried to buy it out. They had owned two hotels then, and were looking to expand their business. They had done much the same as we, making great profit off of those who were still spending money during the bad years. And they were very relentless. They played on all the similarities trying to win my father over. Sten's father had three sons to my father's three daughters, and both ran family businesses. They both worked very hard. Even their mothers had the same name, they were both called Ingrid. Our families had both emigrated here from Norway around the same time, and they were both fluent, as we were, and is Eric is, and they would negotiate and argue in the old language," she continues. Huh. I didn't know that, about Eric. And also, my heart panged a little as she said 'we _are,_' referring to her and Sten.

"But in the end my father was too stubborn, and he would not sell, but after that, Sten and I had gotten to know each other very well over the weeks and months and we were married about a year later, and even at the wedding party his father tried to offer to buy the hotel as a joke when he made his speech to toast us. Sten ended up taking over for his father not very long after that, and when my father passed he left his hotel to me, and that is how we started the Northman Group."

"That's an amazing story, and so sweet, how you two met," I smile. "I hope your fathers were not such rivals that there was trouble?"

"Oh, no. They became good friends after a time. Once it became very clear that my father wasn't going to budge, I think they only persisted in meeting to negotiate so that Sten and I might have the excuse to forward our courtship," she says fondly.

"I can see why it is so important to you to continue the family tradition," I say, honestly.

"Yes. It has always been important to both me and to Sten. Our son Viktor, you have met. He began working for Sten and this lasted a few years, but he had very different ideas on how the business should be run. He is in casinos now."

I nodded. "I gathered," I answer. "Being out in Vegas and all."

"Yes, that is where people gamble away their fortunes, to my son's profit. He does very well at it, but this is not a sphere that ever interested us. We are children of the Great Depression after all, and the idea of seeing great sums of money come and go in a blink is not one that has ever appealed."

"I can understand that. My gran was the same way. She never wanted to go with her church group when they'd go over to Bosier City on trips and the like." Because nickle-slots totally compare to Las Vegas gambling, or owning a casino.

"It is a filthy habit really," Inge agrees, soundly. We paused a bit and ate our food for a while. As she had been talking she'd had my rapt attention and apart from a few sips of tea, I hadn't touched my meal.

"I understand you were an orphan?" she asks me after at time.

"Er, yes, I suppose, technically," I answer, slightly taken aback. "My parents died in a car crash when I was very young. My brother and I were raised by our grandmother, who died last year."

"Mm," she sounds, as if all I'd done was confirm what she already knew, which, by the sound of it, was exactly what had happened. I'd think about _how_ another time. Maybe Madge had shared my background check with her. I highly doubted Eric would have disclosed all that. "Are you and he close?" she asks of my brother and I.

"I think we are," I reply, once I've taken a moment to ponder. "Perhaps not in the sense that we share all the small details of our lives. We're not very similar people really, but I do love him fiercely. He's about to be married, so I'll have a sister-in-law as well, soon," I finish with a smile.

"It's fair to say that family is important to you, then," she surmises.

"It is," I state plainly.

"To me as well," she concurs. "I do not think this is a view shared by my grandson. He was too much separated from his parents when he was younger."

"I know he was at boarding school for a time," I offer.

"Hmph. From age seven, yes."

I winced. "I hadn't realized," I say. Not that he had started that young, anyway.

"Yes, that mother of his," she says with disdain. "Always a very pretty girl of course, but only on the outside if you take my meaning," she says plainly.

"Eric hasn't talked about her at all," I say quickly. And I don't know that I want to hear it from you, I think. It's a little rude to actually say that out loud though.

"No, they don't speak. I don't believe she's even living in the country anymore."

"That's her loss then," I stay stoutly. "Her son is a wonderful person."

"And no thanks to her. Sookie, if I may be so bold, I'd like to make a request of you," she says as she pats at her mouth daintily with her napkin.

"Pardon?" I ask, my tone uncertain.

"We both love my grandson," she begins, then, she must have caught the look on my face which had to be in the range of hesitant. "Well, if you are not ready to admit it yet, that is fine. We both _care for_ my grandson, greatly."

I nod. That was certainly true.

"I would like to see more of him. At my time of life, in my situation... I am certain that you can understand that I want what time with him that I can get, and I would greatly appreciate your help in facilitating this."

"Inge..." She'd told me to call her Inge, as opposed to Mrs. Northman.

"I am not asking for the moon of course, but already in the past couple of months I have seen more of him, and it has been because of you. I would love it if you could continue to help me to see him. Perhaps you will attend some of our lunches and pull him along, or, there are many events that you could ask him to bring you to..."

"Inge," I say again, interrupting her, as she felt free to interrupt me. "If _I_ may be so bold, Eric does _not_ like to be manipulated, and I won't do that to him." Her kind, imploring look hardens almost instantly in response to my words and my cool tone. I go on, "You are absolutely right. Family is important to me. And you are right as well, that I wish Eric would realize this for himself." I pause briefly taking a moment to breath and gather my thoughts, and when I speak again, my voice is far more tender. "If you are asking for my help, then I can only offer it in the form of advice. Tell him these things. Eric is a grown man, and not a cruel one. You can be honest with him. What he resents is when people are not. He won't throw it back in your face if you tell him you love him and wish he'd visit more often for Sunday dinners."

I took another forkful of what was left of my duck and spinach salad. I'd ordered it because it sounded delicious, not because it was a salad. It was a deliberately large bite, so I could take an extra long time to chew, both to let my words sink in, and to prevent myself from overstepping any further, if I had done so. I wasn't sure. She paused and took another bite of her food as well. She had some sort of cold pasta with sun-dried tomatoes.

"Do you think that you and he would like to come for dinner on Sunday?" she asks softly.

"Eric has offered to help me move this weekend, and on Sunday we'll be up to our elbows in boxes, but why don't you call him and invite him for next week? Or ask him on Friday," I suggest.

She gives a tremulous little nod.

"And Inge?" I say, slightly emboldened by her seeming acquiescence.

"Yes?"

"Grown men do not coo Fahma's the way he does except out of endearment. Maybe he is distant, but it is clear he loves you very much."

She smiles at that. "Do you know where that comes from?"

I shake my head, and she goes on, "When he was very little, he asked me how he could tell me apart from his other grandmother, because he did not like that we were both called grandma. So I told him that I had called my grandmother farmor, which literally means father's mother in our language. But he had trouble with his r's for a couple of years after he started talking, and so I became, and stayed, Fahma. He tried adopting a very formal 'grandmother' for a few weeks one summer when he was a teenager, but it did not stick."

Imagining Eric as a barely vocal boy stumbling over his consonants was like tiny bunnies snuggling against the belly of an infant panda. Cutest thing ever.

And after that, our conversation lightened again considerably. I got to hear a few more choice Eric tidbits of the embarrassing family variety, including the time that he had fallen out of a sailboat in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico (he had been wearing a life-vest and was scooped out right away, but he still hated boats), and the time he and another boy had managed to tip over the punch bowl at a formal luncheon, and then tried to flatly deny it, all the while being practically covered head to toe in bright tangerine stains. We ended up staying for coffee well after our plates had been cleared away, not parting until I really did have to go and get ready for my meeting.

I sent Eric a message letting him know that lunch was nice, and I'd tell him all about it tonight. He replied that he'd be around by seven. My meeting went well. The camp directors were two men and one woman. The men were both tenured teachers, one from the upper and one from the lower school, and the woman was an administrator. We talked briefly about the fact that I was both new to the school and new to the summer program, and they were actually encouraging about this. Apparently it was quite common for freshmen new to the school, that is, those coming from outside schools and not the Peterson Lower School, to be guided towards the summer program. It gave them a chance to get to know other students as well as some teachers, before the school year. Many of us would be new together, then, and that was deemed useful, in their eyes.

They were politely impressed with the manner of my presentation, that is, giving them my outlines and handouts, both for the overview and for the specific class. I lead them through it, answering their questions and taking the notes they gave me in my own notepad. On the whole, they were very positive. They gave me the contact information of the teacher who would be working the history program and encouraged me to get together with him and consider some joint sessions, which I thought sounded great, and was eager to hear that encouraged. They warned me that I needed to be very sensitive about dealing with certain things, such as the religious nature of certain historical sites, or focusing too strongly on the fact that many had likely been constructed by a slave labour force, however many hundreds or thousands of years ago.

"Always keep it light," the woman, Janine, had advised me. I nodded. I had not intended on focusing on either aspect in any special detail. I made the notes.

We agreed to meet again in two weeks. At that time I was to present the formal and finalized plan for both sessions on two separate days, and then attend the general meetings for the whole program, and the upper school program specifically, and then if they deemed it necessary, we'd meet a final time before the program officially began to cover any revisions. Serious business. Next week would be June already. It was coming up quickly, and I can't say I minded. They made sure they had me on their email list, and I went ahead and let them know about my change of address. Janine reminded me to stop into the administration building and update my records with the school properly, as well. I'd do that tomorrow, since they were closed up for the day by now, I was sure. I had the impulse to check my phone to see what time it was, but I thought it would be rude to take it out. Ah Amelia. Very well, I concede. Sometimes a watch would be very handy.

When I left to return to my car I saw that it was five o'clock. I drove back to the hotel and found to my dismay that the dining table was covered with dirty plates and glasses and a room service cart was still stationed nearby. I started to tidy up but I realized I had nothing to wipe down the table with, or sweep away the crumbs. I picked up the phone and called downstairs, oafishly requesting "Uh, maid service," for the room. Pam and Eric and, from the look of it, two others, had obviously been back here after the maids had come in earlier in the day to change the towels and make up the bed.

After being assured "Right away, Miss Stackhouse," I suddenly flushed with the idea of coming face to face with someone whose job it was to regularly change my sex sheets and cowardly, I hid in the bedroom. That is, until I heard the knock on the door, and realized that I was going to have to answer it, since whoever was on the other side knew darned well that I was here, since I had just called for them to come. An older woman came in with a basket of cleaning supplies and I gave her a completely manic smile and gestured to the table, rambling endlessly on about the fact that evidently Eric had had lunch in here with guests and forgot to let anyone know it needed tidying. I apologized profusely for having to bother her, despite the fact that it was her job, and then thanked her several times once she had cleared everything onto the cart, wiped the table and brushed the floor and was wheeling it all away. Yeah. I was _so_ ready for the privacy of being in my own home.

I plugged in my computer and set about incorporating some of the notes I'd received at my meeting and that's how Eric found me when he returned. He used his super tall guy stride to catch me in the chair before I could stand up and teased me about him being the one who was supposed to work late. I smiled and stood and hugged and kissed him. After that, we settled down on the couch and I told him all about my very full day. I left out some bits of my conversation with Inge, simply saying that she'd expressed a real desire to spend more time with him. Whether he knew her well enough to take more meaning from that than I had offered, I didn't know.

He told me that he'd seen Tara again that afternoon, and she had asked him to tell me hello. I frowned a bit at that. Just like with David, I couldn't really help the fact that I resented her role in both Eric's and Pam's for that matter, constant state of frenzy these last weeks. I still wasn't really talking to her. I felt ever so slightly guilty about being a bad friend, but I did tell myself that once Eric was through with Area Five, we could make our amends to our friendship.

I slept very peacefully that night, dozing off with a head full of all the things I wanted to do for my new place. I'd have plenty of time in the next two days to get it ready for me to move in over the weekend. I thought about green curtains for the bedroom. Maybe a floral pattern. Oh goodie. Tomorrow I'd get to buy _finials_.


	21. Venom, or Misbeehaviour

I am not a great shopper. This stems from the fact that we didn't do a lot of superfluous shopping when I was growing up. I simply hadn't had the practice. We hadn't been able to. It wasn't a big deal. A lot of people were like that where I'm from. Most, even. I was never shabby. I wasn't one of _those_ kids. The ones you can tell are poor by the way they turn up to school. The ones who get teased. I know that's an ugly thing to say, but unfortunately it's true. It happens. There _are_ those kids. I had been a well loved and well cared for child. I was never teased. Well, I was never teased unmercifully. There was a lot of "Sookie-Cookie" when I was in grade school and "Ah, Sookie, Sookie now," once my boobs came in (matter of fact, I still get that one sometimes), but nothing harsh. We were working class people in what is basically a working class town. We watched our pennies when I was growing up, like everyone else.

At university, my girls had done their best to teach me about things like fashion and proper designers, and it took to some extent. I had a bit more style now. I knew what I liked and what looked good on me and where to find it. I knew what did _not_ flatter me, and how to avoid it. I'll tell you right now, that's plenty more than a lot of people know, even among those who shop all the time! On the whole, though, I'm not a great shopper. I don't go to the mall on weekends and just buy things for no particular purpose but to fill an afternoon. I don't get a little thrill when I unpack a glossy printed bag. I have never "shopped 'til I dropped."

All that being said, one thing that truly excited me about having my own place, my first and very own space, was the prospect of outfitting it with my own things. To slowly fill it with items that suited me. Not heirlooms, not antiques. Not things that were just selected to fill a need, but rather, things I adored and wanted. Things that would reflect _me_. I intended to take my time with it. I welcomed the chance to treat it as a labour of love. And so, I began by spending an enjoyable couple of days picking out area rugs, curtains, bath mats, a coat rack, a towel stand, and other things that amounted to the bare necessities, with a few embellishments thrown in. My big splurge was made in the living room. I didn't have anything for in there, at all. Rather than leave a big empty room, I bought a nice sofa and a wide club chair, and a large ottoman that could be moved in front of either.

Furniture in general was an issue. I kitted myself out with some basic, utilitarian pieces, mostly from Walmart and Ikea, or similar places. They were inexpensive and not built to last. If I'm being honest, it was a little bit 'dorm room.' Still, it was preferable to say, eating off the floor in the kitchen.

That's exactly where I was when Eric found me Thursday night at eight o'clock. He'd told me he was going to be late again, so I told him I'd be over at the house. _My _house, for all intents and purposes. Possession is nine-tenths of the law! There was a knock at the door and then it opened. I frowned because I'd just scoffed at Madge earlier in the week for reminding me to shoot the locks, yet clearly I'd forgotten. In my defence, I was armed. Or legged, at least.

"Sookie?" I heard him query the seemingly empty space. His voice was raised enough that I'd have heard him from upstairs.

I wave the table leg I was holding over my head so it would show above the counter if you were looking straight towards the kitchen from the front door. "In here!" I call out.

He comes into view carrying a plastic bag that smells like some kind of delicious, greasy food, and sets it on the counter.

"I accounted for there being no plates or knives or forks, but I did not account for there not being a table," he smirks.

"I'm almost done," I tell him, and deftly screw the last of the last of the legs into the upturned tabletop. I stand and pull it up and over. It's simple and white and sturdy enough for now. I have four matching wooden chairs that go with it, and I push them and then stand back with a gesture of ta-da.

This was his first time being here. I'd showed him the outside last weekend, just driving by, so he knew where it was, but he'd never been inside before now. "Are you famished?" I ask him, looking at the bag of food for a moment. "I want to give you the tour," I grin.

"I will take the tour," he smiles.

I took his jacket and hung it on the rack beside the door, and proceeded to show him all around. I'd gotten all the windows curtained, and had rugs or runners down everywhere they were needed. I warned him to watch his head coming up the stairs. He was fine, but it was a near thing. If he'd flexed his ankles up he could have hit it. It was pretty empty upstairs, except for the bathroom which, barring the absence of my many bottles and lotions and a stack of clean towels, was pretty well outfitted. I watched with interest as he stepped into the dry, empty bathtub. It was large enough for him to recline, up to his neck if he bent his knees a little, and it was probably wide enough that I could fit between his legs. Maybe. I'm sure we could make it work if or hopefully _when_ necessity arose.

He stepped in the shower and nodded approvingly at the discovery that the showerhead was high enough that he wouldn't have to hunch to get his head under it. He beckoned me over and pulled me inside. Unceremoniously he lifted my leg and hoisted it above his hip, securing my foot against the wall. He raised my hips so I was on tiptoe on my standing foot, but because of the leverage I gained from my raised foot against the wall it wasn't too taxing to maintain the position. He ground against me and involuntarily I let out a breathy sigh. We were both still fully clothed of course.

"I can work with this," he said, with an air of affected indifference that was so _not_ reflected in the sudden bulge in his pants or my flushed cheeks. He stepped away and wandered off into the empty bedroom.

"You are fooling no one, buddy," I muttered following after him.

My bedroom was more or less bare. I'd gotten white curtains with a border of eyelet lace ends and a simple mahogany curtain rod, and a white rectangular area rug. White and white, to go with the white walls and white moulding. Real creative, huh? I sighed and explained to him that I had no idea what I wanted to do with the bedroom. He assured me that I'd figure it out. We went back down and ate the dinner he had brought, which was thai food. It was good that he had gotten some cashew chicken he intended to keep all to himself, because the pad thai was mine. I'd been busy all day and was very hungry.

The only problem that Eric's plan had presented was the fact that I had to reschedule the surveyor's visit, so Mr. Herveaux would be coming over on Saturday, instead of today, as was initially planned. The woman at their office had been a total pill about it, and had wanted to charge me a fee for cancelling and rescheduling the appointment so late. I guess the actual guy had been standing right there in her office during our conversation because I heard him saying he could just take his day off today and come by on Saturday to work, and then she put me on hold for about an hour (not really, six or seven minutes) and then came back and said that rescheduling for Saturday would be just fine, thank you Miss Stackhouse. Their company was getting a fair bit of work out of my family this month between Jason and I, and I appreciated their accommodation.

Jason had received only bad news from Herveaux and Son. The damage to his house had been a lot more substantial than we'd realized initially. The fire had ravaged the whole back wall, we knew that much, but what we hadn't known was the fact that it had burned up through the crawl space damaging the whole roof, and that between the charring heat and pressure of the hoses used to put out the fire, there'd been damage to some of the structural support in the middle of the house. Jason told me that as soon as Alcide had discovered _that_, he'd high-tailed it out of the house like it could fall at any moment, and had given his professional opinion that the home should not be re-entered under any circumstances as it was unsafe. It was a good thing that Jason and Crystal had already gotten all their stuff removed before finding all that out. That they had been able to do so without being injured had apparently been sheer luck.

The bottom line was that it would be literally cheaper to tear the house down to the slab and rebuild or replace with a prefab house, than to attempt to repair the existing structure. It tore at my heart to know that the home my parents had built for our family, where Jason and I were meant to grow up, was going to be levelled. I knew my brother was taking it even harder than I. After all, he had a lot more memories of both the house and our parents, and of course, it had become _his_ house. I made it very clear to him in no uncertain terms that he was welcome to Gran's as long as he and Crystal needed or wanted to stay. When I said it I had meant it. I'd meant it even if that turned out to be forever.

We closed up the house and I rode with Eric back to the hotel in his car. We left mine in my little driveway to save us an extra trip picking it up on Sunday. He'd leave his car in valet over the weekend (they'd look after it, perks of being the boss) and we'd take a town car over to the rental place. I'd follow him to return the truck and drop him back at the hotel Monday morning. Suffice to say that renting a vehicle of any sort requires a great deal of coordination, but we had our plan. We'd each packed small bags for our weekend journey. He had asked me if he should bother bringing anything nice, and I told him only if he was going to come to church with me. I think he thought I was kidding.

Eric's meeting on Friday morning was shorter than I'd anticipated it would be. He was back by ten thirty, and in good spirits. All he really had done was commission his team to bid aggressively on this property that Inge and Sten had wanted. He'd set a high cap for them, but he did set a cap, which had been contrary to Inge's wishes. Eric explained to me that he'd been in touch with the architect who had done the drafting work for them. This turned out to be the exact right person to contact for quick information, since he had already done the discovery work regarding the property when laying out his design proposal. There were evidently some very strict limitations in place by the government for the use of the land, the extent they could develop the forest and the beach, and how large any buildings could be. If Viktor was going to be spiteful, not only would he pay through the nose for the opportunity, but he wouldn't even be able to use the land for what he presumably wanted. It would be a lose/lose for his father, and Eric deemed this to be a highly satisfactory situation.

I felt pretty proud of Eric as he explained it all. I could tell that he was feeling proud of himself as well. He was just a good businessman. It was very beneficial for him to see that he could be one in any particular business. Concluding his account of the morning, he mentioned to me that Inge had invited us for a "Sunday Dinner" the following weekend. I smiled at that, and told him I was happy to go along but the decision was his. He said he would consider it. Baby steps, I suppose.

Eric actually had fun driving the big truck up to Bon Temps. It was designed to carry very heavy loads, and of course it was empty on the way there. That resulted in a surprising amount of pickup. It wouldn't be inaccurate to describe our trip up as _careening_. We got back to Gran's before either Jason or Crystal was home from work and discovered that the whole front room of the house and part of the porch were filled with boxes of the things they had been able to save from Jason's house. Unfortunately a lot of it still stunk like smoke so the first thing I did when we got in was push open windows and get the fans on. I sprayed some air freshener, which wouldn't prevent the smell from returning, but it would at least mask it for now.

Eric was keen to get started moving some of the boxes that were still packed up in _my room_ out to the truck, so we made a few trips that would at least allow us to have some more space to move around. Gran's poor house was looking awfully like a way station for displaced Stackhouses this week. I guess that's what it was being, though. It hadn't taken very long to largely clear the bedroom. We even got the new bed on the truck before Jason pulled up. I gave my brother a hug and then left him to talk with Eric outside. He had to show off his injury of course and they had men-things to talk about, or something.

I surveyed the refrigerator and the freezer and the cabinets and started pulling down ingredients to make dinner. I had some chicken which I popped in the microwave to defrost. I found mushrooms in the fridge and knew I had some Marsala wine in the pantry, so that made the decision for what to make pretty easy. I texted Crystal to let her know that we'd arrived and asked what time she'd be home so I could start dinner. She said she'd be another hour. I had plenty of time. I went out to check on the men. They were now comparing stories of old injuries. I teased Eric not to forget to tell Jason about the time he'd gotten walloped on the back by a sailboat boom and gone plunging into the Gulf. His shocked face at the realization that I knew that story was priceless. I told them if they wanted showers before dinner now was the time and not long after they trudged inside to do just that.

They were washed and sitting at the kitchen table with a couple of my brother's beers and I was browning the chicken cutlets when Crystal came in. I flipped the burner on for the pasta water and went back to my chicken and then worked on the mushrooms and the sauce. She came out a bit later and put together a salad (the green kind), and not long after that the four of us sat down to some truly delicious Chicken Marsala, if I do say so myself. Crystal and I were talking about the recipe, which was pretty easy even though it sounded fancy. The secret to all these fancy sauces is deglazing. Also, butter. Eric and Jason ate dutifully, leaving us nothing in the way of leftovers. It was a really lovely domestic scene.

After dinner my brother started making noises about going out to shoot pool again and while Eric seemed interested, I just wasn't up for a night at the bar. Crystal was on the same page as me. She couldn't drink of course, and the smoke gave her a headache anymore. Somehow we found ourselves bidding the pair of them goodbye after Crystal gave stern warnings not to be too late or drink too much. I didn't really feel compelled to give Eric the same mandates. He'd already showed me he knew his limits, so I just told him to call if they found they needed a ride home. He'd just grinned at that and kissed me and went off to enjoy his guy's night out.

It was weird in a delightful way to see my brother and a boyfriend of mine getting along. It was a first. In high school of course Jason'd had only hard stares for anyone who looked sidelong at me, his little sister (not that there had been so many). Then of course there had been Bill. It was strange to see it with Eric as well, whose social life, hitherto, had consisted of work related functions and dating rich but classless ho's. (No, I would never be forgiving Escort and all her ilk.) Crystal and I had cleared away the dinner things and she made up a pot of decaffeinated herbal tea, which she lamented was practically the only thing she was allowed to drink besides water. When we sat back down at the table I felt compelled to comment on how pleased I was that our men were getting along.

"It's kinda surprising," she agrees.

"I know. I gotta say, I didn't think my brother would ever grow up Crys, but you've really been so good for him," I tell her earnestly.

"Thank you," she smiles. "But I kind of meant with your Eric, more."

I nod. "Yeah, he doesn't really do the buddy thing. He seems like a person who has pretty much let his work be he life, you know?"

"I guess so," she agrees. "But I meant, I mean, isn't he kind of slumming here?"

I frown. "I don't understand."

"Well we saw in the paper last time you guys where here about how his granddaddy had died and left him his fortune? It was in the Shreveport Times, and we get that delivered every day at work. I mean, we didn't know at the time that he was somebody famous when he was here before. He acts so regular."

Still frowning. I guess I really hadn't realized how big a story that had been. I suppose I should have. Five people had died, four of them kids and one of them a prominent local businessman. Amelia was right again, that certainly was big news in the state. A real tragedy. Considering how we'd found out that Sten was injured, I felt like a Slow Joe for this not having dawned on me much sooner.

"He's not famous," I disagree. "Just something newsworthy happened to his family."

"But he's still like, really rich, right?"

"I...don't know. I suppose so. I know he has a good job, and his family has money, but he's not like, Bill Gates or something."

"It's still like a far cry from Bon Temps," she argues.

"I...suppose so?" I repeat. "I don't think he thinks about it in those terms? I know I don't."

"Well but that's still your type, right?"

"Eric? Yeah, apparently he is." I force a smile.

"No, rich," she says flatly.

"Uh, no?" I retort. The pallor of uneasiness I'd been clutching to my chest seems to creep outward from me and settle over the whole room now.

"I don't mean it as an insult!" she says quickly. Are you sure about that? "That's just what you like. I mean that Bill guy was rich, and then he gave you all that land just for nothing."

"Bill wasn't _rich_ when I met him," I say stiffly. "And coming into money didn't do much to improve him, quite the opposite, as you may have noticed. _All that land_ was something he bought in my name without even consulting me, after which point he _had_ to give it to me. And I'm the one that'll be stuck paying the tax on it now so I wouldn't really call that doing me a favour!" I say, my voice rising by the end of my explanatory speech.

"Sookie, you're taking this the whole wrong way. I didn't mean anything bad by it. It's good that you got out of this town and went to New Orleans and are doing your thing to improve yourself. I didn't. I mean, I love Jason of course, but you know."

"No Crystal, I really do _not_ know," I state. "I'm not datin' Eric to 'improve myself,' I'm datin' him because he's good to me and I love him. And for your information, more often than not, the fact that he's wealthy makes me feel humble, small, and awkward, and I spend a whole lot of time tryin' to ignore it." I'm upset. My accent is full out.

Silence fell in the kitchen as she made no response. Good to know that my future sister thinks I'm some gold-digging whore, banging my way through New Orleans on a mission of self-improvement. I finished my lukewarm tea in one big gulp and got up, put the cup in the sink, and excused myself. I went back to my bedroom and shut the door. Not slammed, just shut. I felt myself starting to tear up. I went into the shower and stayed in there until the water ran cold. When I got out, I heard the television on in the room next door so turned on the blow dryer to drown out the noise. It was still going when I finished so I tuned my little clock radio to the first anything else I could find, pulled on a tank top and a pair of shorts and got into bed.

I heard Eric come in a couple of hours later and realized that he was deliberately trying to be quiet and not turn on the light, so I spoke up to let him know I was awake, and he needn't keep that up.

"Hey," I said sleepily. "Did you guys have fun?" I ask.

"Sorry if I woke you," he says.

"You didn't," I assure.

He did flip on the light then, and I grabbed a pillow and crushed it over my face for a second, easing into the brightness.

"Sorry," I hear him say. "We had fun, yes. It was interesting."

"What happened?" I ask. Interesting in reference to a night out is a worry word.

"Well, we won twenty bucks off your old boyfriend."

"My old boyfriend?" I ask.

"J.B. DuRone," he clarifies.

I chuckle a little at that. "He took me to prom. I don't know if I would have called him a boyfriend."

"Well he certainly remembers you fondly." Oh dear. I'm not getting anything from his tone, either. Once he's got his bearings he turns off the light again. I hear him stripping off his clothes and he joins me in bed giving a murmur of appreciation at how comfortable it is. Success! But back to the point.

"Explain," I request.

"He asked Jason 'what that pretty sister of his was up to lately,' and then went on a bit about your many virtues until I got around to introducing myself, which shut him up. And then Jason and I defended your honour by beating him at pool four times in a row."

I chuckled a little. J.B. and I had never been intimate, and I didn't think he would have implied anything remotely in the range of that in the presence of Jason, so I wasn't terribly worried despite Eric's vague explanation. "Well, as long as my honour is intact, my _virtues_ are all yours."

"Yes, I impressed that point on him. I hope you do not mind." I give his chest a little pat and snuggle against him. "Did you girls have fun?"

"Nope." I answer right away, popping the p.

"Everything alright?"

"Not really." My momentary cheerfulness has fallen right away again.

"Want to talk about it?" Here's where I should have said 'no.'

I sigh. "She read an article about you after your grandfather died and now she has issues with your financial status. She thinks that tonight, you were out _slumming_ with Jason. She thinks that I am dating you for your money, and that this is my way of pulling myself up from this small town life she is resigned to."

"Ah," he says lightly. "And you're not, right? Dating me for my money?"

"Eric are you frickin' serious right now?" Does he really think that? "Of course I'm not! I said to her how darn uneasy it makes me most of the time. How can you even ask that? I have offered to pay you back for the lawyer and you refused, I would even pay for having stayed at the hotel if I thought for half a minute you would accept it."

"Sookie," he shushes. "Relax please. No I don't think that. I was joking. It is absurd. The only reasonable response is to laugh at it."

I settled down a little, but I was still just so worked up over the whole thing I couldn't help continuing. "I do hate it sometimes," I whisper. "I know you're not a snob or anything, but some of what you deal with is just so beyond my sphere of comprehension. Sometimes I wish you were just...regular." I almost cringe as hear myself use the same expression Crystal had to describe him.

"What, like your brother, or this J.B. guy?"

"_No_ Eric," I emphasize. "But just, your whole world is so different to mine. What you deal with and whom. The privileges and the politics of all that money. I know that you even feel that way at times..." I trail off. And what I don't say out loud, but am thinking is, 'I like you so, so much, but sometimes I can't help but wonder what on earth you're doing with me.'

He says nothing in response to that but he does hug me a little closer.

"I didn't really mean that, about you being regular," I say.

"I think you did," he replies.

"No. Not really. I like who you are. What you do and where you come from shapes that, and I know that. I don't wish _you_ were different in any way, I need you to know that. I'm tired and I'm saying stupid things."

"Alright," he says.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Sookie, I'm going to go to sleep now," he tells me, summarily ending the conversation.

I sigh and let myself settle down, though I can't really fall asleep. I really hoped he understood that I hadn't been insulting him. I wished I hadn't said anything at all about Crystal and her ill thoughts. I felt him roll away from me after a time and his light snoring told me it has been an unconscious gesture. He smelled faintly of beer and smoke from the bar. Everything about tonight was just off. I found myself focusing again and again on Crystal's comments. She was wrong in her assumptions, but I wondered how many others looked at Eric and I as a couple, and saw it her way. I knew that she came from even less than Jason and I, knew that had marked her perception. I guess in some ways I'd had more time to ease into being on the periphery of that world, considering Amelia and some of the other girls from Kappa, and later, Bill. I didn't like to think I would ever have spoken on the subject with so little grace as she had. I was thinking that she was a pretty low class person, and then wondering if that made _me_ a snob.

In that fit of restless consternation I finally fell to exhaustion, and when I woke I saw that it had persisted through the night. Eric wasn't with me. I heard him in the shower. I had the sheets all bunched up around me and I was on the far side of the bed. It was the first night I could recall that I had slept uneasily beside him. I usually found him such a comfort. I smelled breakfast and guessed that Crystal was up and had cooked or was cooking something. I knocked on the bathroom door and then went ahead and tentatively entered. He didn't respond so I went and stood outside the shower curtain and tentatively knocked on the wall.

"Hey," I offer.

"Hey," he says, pulling the curtain back a bit.

"I'm sorry if I ruined your night," I say.

He sighs. "You didn't. I don't really know what to say here. This is not something I've dealt with since I was in school. It's not something I wish to deal with again. I meant what I said though, when it comes to you. It's obvious that she doesn't know you any better than she knows me."

"Can I join you?" I ask. I just want to be near him.

"I'm almost done."

"Oh," I say, crestfallen. I turn to leave and he grabs my wrist quickly.

"Hey," he says seriously, meeting my eyes. "Look, we're okay, alright? I'm going over with Jason to take a look at the house this morning, so we'll be gone for an hour. Then we'll be back to help you pack. You can talk to Crystal. Set her straight, or just tell her to keep her opinions to herself, whatever you decide to do."

"Alright," I say despondently.

"What time is your surveyor coming?"

"Early, I think. He's gonna call when he's near so I can go over and meet him, but I won't need to stay over there."

"Good. Go get dressed," he orders.

I give him a weak smile before leaving him to finish his shower. I pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt and, steeling myself, I went out to the kitchen.

"'Morning," I say. Crystal's got the griddle over the stove cooking pancakes and my brother is seated at the table eating. They both greet me with a good morning and I pour myself a cup of coffee. I take a seat next to my brother and pull a piece of bacon off his plate, nibbling it carefully. I'm meant to wait to talk to her until after Jason and Eric have left, I'd deduced. They seem to have been up early together and conferred on this subject. Perhaps they were bonding too much.

Crystal finished flipping the last of the pancakes and set down a full plate of them and some bacon in the middle of the table. I told her thank you. I served myself and began to eat. Eric appeared in the doorway a short while later and asked rather abruptly if Jason was ready to go. My brother nodded and gulped down the last of his food in tacit agreement. Eric moved up beside me and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before following Jason out the side door onto the porch and out to Jason's truck, leaving Crystal and I alone in the kitchen. She picked up Jason's plate and busied herself by washing it, then turning her attention to cleaning up the rest of the breakfast things. We spent about seven minutes in stony silence before I heard a car on the gravel. I assumed it was Jason and Eric come back again. Maybe they'd forgotten something vitally necessary for their urgent going-to-look-at-a-half-burned-house appointment.

Instead, it was Maryelizabeth Norris who came to the door. She came right in. Crystal dried her hands on a tea towel and picked up her purse from the counter.

"We need to go into Shreveport to see about some things for the wedding. I'll be back in the afternoon. I'll call Jason and let him know. Good luck with your packing," she says. And then they're gone. I sigh. That's a whole house full of people scheming for ways to part company with me this morning. I thought Maryelizabeth and I got on well with each other but I suppose it's still a far cry from the loyalty she feels for her own cousin. At least Jason and Eric will probably be back soon. I finished cleaning up after breakfast. I wasn't sure if Eric had eaten, so I left him a plate in the microwave. Crap. I didn't have a microwave. You never realize how many things don't just come with a house until you move. I started up a Master List of Things Sookie Must Buy Very Soon and tacked it to the refrigerator so that it would be up but out of the way. I went and got some boxes and started putting them together. I had constructing boxes down to a science at this point.

Once again I started in the kitchen. I packed away pairs of dishes and cutlery. Some of the things I packed were ones that I would ultimately return here. I took enough to tide me over until I could find replacements. I could get by without bookcases for a couple of months. Plates and forks? Not so much. Jason and Eric had not turned back up yet when my phone rang and Alcide Herveaux let me know that he'd just gotten off the highway and would be at the Loudermilk place in ten minutes. I left a hasty note for my brother and my boyfriend on the back door and headed over to meet him.

Alcide looked a bit more formal today than he had when we'd met previously. He had on a hunter green button down tucked into his dark jeans. The topmost buttons were undone and you could see the neck of his undershirt. Even though the sleeves were loose, as I watched him lean and bend to unload what seemed to me to be a very large amount of equipment from the back of his truck, the fabric cut against what I had accurately remembered as the impressive musculature in his upper arms. At least in the collared shirt, and especially once he slung his bright blue hardhat on, he seemed a lot less intimidating than he had done when I'd met him the first time. I followed him as he carried a step-ladder and a crowbar to the back of the house and just as he had said he would, he prised and shouldered his way in through the warped door.

We'd walked back to the front where he was retrieving some more of his equipment (there really wasn't any way for him to drive around to the back of the house without trailblazing through a lot of undergrowth and shrubbery) when Jason and Eric drove up. Jason hops down from his truck and greets Alcide with a friendly handshake and Eric came up beside me, slinging his arm around my hip.

"How was the house?" I ask him.

"Strange. I've never seen the results of a fire except in pictures. It still smells."

I nodded.

"It's a real shame," he says. "It's a pretty piece of land, down there by the lake."

"You're only sayin' that cause it's not mosquito season quite yet," I smile. It was definitely true. Come the high months of summer, even the many citronella torches my brother burned all around the deck served only marginally well at keeping the bugs at bay. I knew he'd picked up a couple of these electronic mosquito repellents to try out this year. They emit some sort of high frequency humans can't hear that's supposed to make the bugs less inclined to come by. Personally, I always thought he'd do better just by putting up a bat box. The flying furries would have a feast at their doorstep if they ever moved into Jason's backyard.

"So what's going on here?" he asks, looking up at the house.

"Well, he just shouldered in the door in the back. I was just getting ready to leave, so I'll take a ride with you two if you don't mind. I'll stop back by later."

"Did you talk to Crystal? She called Jason."

"No. She skedaddled about as fast as you two did."

"Maybe we'll drive out to pick up dinner later," he suggests, handy as always with a backup plan.

"Did you get breakfast?" I ask. He shakes his head. "I saved you some back at the house."

"Thanks," he says, giving me a little squeeze.

We walk over to join Jason and Alcide then, and I'm pleased to notice the way that Eric always seems to keep his hands on me. I'd woken up this morning feeling really unsure of myself, almost worrying that I'd blown it with him with my impromptu confession last night about feeling at odds in his world. I felt relieved that he wasn't upset with me. His disapprobation seemed focused on Crystal, even as he wanted me to bury the hatchet with her. I let myself lean into him reflecting that he was really racking up the terrific boyfriend points this weekend.

We left Alcide to get to work and I told him I'd bring him up some lunch and check back on him in a couple of hours, bidding him to call me if there were any problems or concerns. Eric lifted me up into Jason's truck and I rode between them on the short drive back to my house. They set about loading the few remaining items I'd already packed into the truck, and more properly securing the things we'd already loaded therein for the drive back to Nola. I got back to work in the kitchen, pausing briefly to get some pasta and a bit more chicken to boil, and some frozen vegetables out, so I could make up a big salad for all of us for lunch. I went a little overboard and cooked two pounds of pasta. After watching Jason and Eric shovel it away last night, I estimated Alcide to be a man of similar appetite. Hopefully there'd be some leftovers in case Crystal got back early. She'd cooked breakfast after all, so it was only polite to consider her despite the tension between us.

We worked through the morning and I ended up calling Alcide to come over by us for lunch. We four chatted amicably about his discovery thus far, the main point being that structurally, the old house seemed sound. It would still need a heck of a lot of work to make it habitable, mind you. There were issues with mould in the back wall where the door had warped and the house's basement, about half a story high and largely above ground, was "teeming with creepy crawlies" according to Alcide. I shuddered. Being what you'd probably call a country girl, I was rarely one to be unsettled by bugs or other vermin. I figured it had to be pretty bad to get a man as big and tough looking as Alcide to pull a face like he did when he said it. Visions of slime mould, snakes, giant nightcrawlers, baby alligators, rats, and nutria all danced through my head in a chittering, slithering, gnawing cacophony. He'd probably just meant spiders and bugs, and likely the mould, but I've got a very active imagination sometimes.

I had been right to make a lot of food. We were left with enough for Crystal to eat, if she hadn't, or possibly for Jason or her to take a lunch to work on Monday, and that was all. Jason followed Alcide back to help him lay down some big boards of plywood that he wanted to get over the front porch, so he could traverse it without carrying on like a tightrope walker. He said he'd been able to just walk through and unlock the front door and pull it open. Eric spent most of the afternoon watching me pack boxes and then carrying them to the truck, with a lot of lounging around in between. Most of the time he didn't know what to pack, and I was pretty much deciding as I went so I couldn't really instruct him. When Jason turned up again, Eric was able to help him shift some of their stuff around.

I stopped what I was doing long enough to thrust cleaning supplies into my brother's hands so he could work on getting the residual smoke smell off some of his and Crystal's things. There was a funny little moment as he and Eric exchanged seemingly baffled looks at such mysterious artefacts as spray polish and dust cloths. Eric might have an excuse, but Crystal had obviously been spoiling my brother if he'd forgotten how to clean for himself already. That thought made me scowl as I grappled with the fact that I was still very offended by her, in contrast with the evidence that she clearly took good care of Jason.

In a fit of goodwill, and a heroic act of housework avoidance, my brother, who had found my list on the fridge, declared that he was going to buy me a microwave as a housewarming present. Eric quickly resolved to accompany him. After all, unlike Jason, he had seen my kitchen, and would be able to offer solid advisement on suitable size and colour choice. I laughed at their sheer transparency but sent them on their way. As a rule, I could run mental rings around my brother in the normal course. Supplemented by Eric, however, they became a formidable duo. I couldn't be upset in the slightest. I loved it.

They took what seemed to me to be a long time, and I figured they'd driven into Shreveport or Monroe for a bigger selection instead of going somewhere close by. It was still plenty light out, but it was early evening when Alcide called me over to let me know that he was done and packing up. I left another note for Jas and Eric and then walked over to hear what he had to say, and to pay him. He was thundering down the little plywood ramp that he and Jason had erected across the front steps as I came up on the driveway out of the brush leading down to the cemetery. Maybe I could get Jason to bring his ride on mower up here to try to tackle it some time.

Alcide beckoned me over and tentatively I followed him inside. I gasped musty air as I did. The paint was pealing, and there was some obvious water damage showing on some of the upper walls, but the grand entry was exactly that, grand. Just inside the door the foyer was two stories high and curved staircase rose up to the second floor landing, its carved banister dusty and cobwebby, but still beautiful. To my right was a sprawling great room leading back to the dining room and beyond there, the kitchen. To my left was a small front parlour leading back to another parlour room, maybe it had been an office, or even a library. There were plank shelved bookcases built into the walls. As we walked through, Alcide was pointing out the many things that needed urgent attention, and the very many more things that he called secondary.

"Should I be taking notes?" I'd asked, before we were through the first room.

"Ah, no. I have all my notes in my laptop. If you give me your address I'll email it over before I leave. You have decent coverage out here," he comments, sounding surprised at the afterthought. "I didn't think my card would pick up the internet, but it's been going all day."

"Yeah," I agree. "It's what I use when I'm up here."

"You're packing up to move today, Jason said?" he asks. I guess he could have mistaken the moving truck in my driveway as being there for Jason and Crystal's use.

"Yup, just got my place down in New Orleans this week. It's perfect. Well, it's perfect for me, at least!"

"That's great. I get down there once in a while. Not as often as I'd like," he says. He'd mentioned this before.

"If you'd welcome it, I'll pass along your name to a friend of mine who's in development down there. She said she's looking for a good surveyor. Maybe get you into town a bit more," I tell him, thinking of Amelia's request.

"Yeah? Sure, pass it on."

"You gotta promise not to talk to her like a woman though, she hates that."

He cocks an eyebrow at me, requesting information. "Don't talk down to her," I clarify. "She knows her stuff. You can continue talking down to me though, I have no idea about any of it," I grin.

He chuckles at that. We'd done the full circuit of the downstairs and were back in the front. He gestures me toward the stairs and I give him a wary look.

"It's safe?" I question. He takes a few quick strides ahead of me and paces up the first few steps, deliberately stomping to authenticate their sturdiness. I followed after him. There were four bedrooms upstairs and two baths. Technically I suppose there were two bedrooms and a bath, and the master suite with a nursery attached. He explained that it would be the work of a day to seal up the one wall connecting the nursery to the master bedroom if we wanted. He said it might make the house more saleable. I shook my head distractedly though. That would be way down on the list, if added at all. Finally he showed me the narrow staircase in what I'd thought had been a closet door leading up to the attic. We didn't go up there. At his mention of the word 'guano' it reaffirmed for me that an exterminator would need to be a very high priority.

I turned away, a little too quickly, and my toe caught some dust and I slipped. I spared myself a full on faceplant only by lurching and I ended up coming down hard on my knee. "Damn," I huffed, then groaned as I stood up. Jeez Louise that hurt. I leaned back against the wall, bending to cup my hand over my sore kneecap, but Alcide leaned forward and pulled me away and I realized that my butt and my back were now dusted with crumbling paint. I sighed and he chuckled. He guided me back down the stairs.

"Oh, and I found these," he says, remembering, and fishes into his pocket to produce a set of two old keys, a little discoloured. "They were just sitting on the kitchen counter, real secure-like," he smirks.

"Considering you broke in here with your shoulder I don't think it's much of a security breach," I grin, though my voice still has the edge of my pain in it. My knee was throbbing. He'd already boarded up the back door, so I let him walk out and used the keys he'd found to lock the front. The lock turned unexpectedly smoothly and he told me he'd shot it with some WD-40. I smiled at that. There was something about that substance that reminded me of my dad. Surreptitiously, I breathed in the smell now clinging to the keys. Yes. Dad's old shed. Fixing the lawnmower. On the chain of my old bike. I turned and took a step from the door and the plywood flooring that Alcide had laid down wobbled under my feet. I winced as I felt spasm in my knee and my only thought was that I was the klutziest person on the planet today as I felt myself trip forward, ready for another nosedive, this time off the height of the porch.

I didn't fall. When I threw my hands out, they met the hard, warm body of Alcide as he caught me and held me as I steadied myself. My breathing hitched and for a moment I was unsure if it was my rattled nerves or my sheer proximity to this man. I don't know if he took it as a sign or something, but he started rubbing my back as if to calm me, staying incredibly close when he really ought to have stepped away. Naturally, this was the exact moment that Eric arrived. I heard and then saw him come up from what must be quickly becoming the beaten path over here from Gran's property. I saw as his face shifted from impassive to confused to angry as he came upon me, seemingly in the embrace of another man. Another man, who, evidenced by the fact that he failed to hear Eric's approach, was clearly making a bit more of this little moment than there was to be made.

"Sookie?" Eric questioned, loudly. Accusingly.

Alcide's top-side brain seemed to click back on and he quickly pushed me from him, causing me to stumble back and I nearly went down _again_, but this time I caught myself.

"Hey man," Alcide offers to Eric. He does not manage to affect the nonchalance he was going for. "She tripped."

Eric said nothing as he crossed toward us, his eyes were roving over me as if searching for evidence of my alleged fall. Alcide backed down the little ramp, stepping out of the way of Eric who scaled it in two strides and was in front of me in another one. I felt myself flush with worry and embarrassment and I prayed that Eric wouldn't mistake that for guilt. He turned back toward Alcide, and was staring him down. Behind him, I lifted my hand to his back and let it fall on the waist of his jeans. I tucked my thumb into one of his belt loops and gave the tiniest tug backwards. Don't be rash. Stay right here.

"Uh, Sookie, I'll email you the findings list tonight then," he calls up.

"Thank you. Please send us your bill," Eric answers in his firm, cool voice.

Alcide stumbled over a hasty goodbye then and got in his truck, backed it up and drove away. Eric watched him until he was out of sight then turned around to face me.

"Sookie what the fuck did I just walk into?" he asks coldly.

"I did trip," I say quickly. "I fell, in the house, and banged my knee. And then I wobbled on the board here and was going to go down again and he caught me." I bent down, trying to hastily wrench my jeans leg up over my calf so I could show him my knee which had to be at least red, if not already bruising.

"That's not what it looked like," he says sceptically.

"That's what it was!" I assert, popping back up to look him dead in the eyes. "I don't know why he didn't step away after he caught me. My mind was wandering, I was thinking of keys and bicycle chains and I didn't think of him," I babble with a touch of hysteria.

"Can you walk?" he asks. I nod. Without another word he takes my hand and leads me back to Gran's house. Dragged might have been a better word. I had to move too quickly to keep up with him and when we got there I was practically hobbling. Crystal's car was back but Jason's truck was missing. I followed Eric inside and while he started to walk back to the bedroom, I needed a chair, immediately. I was finally able to get my pants leg up over my knee and I saw that yes, it was bruising up and now swollen. I had a very small cut where I guess the skin had split, that had already sealed itself with a small layer of dark, coagulating blood. Eric was back in the kitchen doorway now, looking down at me.

"You did fall," he observes.

"Yes Eric, did you think I was making that up?" I ask. He doesn't answer. He doesn't have to, because the fact that he said it at all means that he did think that. I get up and grab a towel off the front handle of the stove and open the freezer and fill it with a handful of ice cubes. I grab two aspirin out of the cabinet and gulp them down with half a glass of water and then move past him back to the bedroom. I pull off my jeans and take another towel out of the bathroom, unconcerned with the fact that it was still damp from his shower. It's about to be damp from the ice anyway. I put the towel with the ice on my knee, and wrap the second towel around it to keep it in place and lie down on the bed, covering my head with a pillow.

I heard him come in and I felt him sit down on the bed as well. "Jason and Crystal went to get pizzas for dinner. They should be back soon."

"Not hungry," I answer.

"Jason told me that guy has been asking about you," he says.

"So?" I ask. I lift the pillow off my head and look at him.

"He likes you."

"Again, so?" I repeat.

"That guy we met at the bar last night likes you too," he offers, after a moment.

"Eric," I begin, unsure as I start how I'm going to finish. "Maybe that did look bad, the second you saw, but it was really and truly nothing."

"I know," he acknowledges.

"Then what?" I ask.

"I am sorry. I overreacted."

"No," I frown at him. "That's not what you should be sorry for."

He doesn't answer for long enough that I'm inclined to sigh and turn away from him. This is being a really unpleasant weekend for me. I sat there stewing in silence for a couple of minutes while he sat there on the other side of the bed doing the same darned thing, I'm sure. When I feel him move toward me on the bed I force myself not to turn to him immediately. Because I am annoyed.

"Sookie," he says. Still not looking. "Sookie," he repeats, this time brushing my chin very gently toward him.

"What, Eric?" I ask.

"I am sorry for making you think I doubted your word." I frown, and he immediately amends, "I am sorry for doubting your word. It is not you I do not trust, but other people. I _do_ trust you, and I will remember that."

"Thank you," I say, deflating.

"How is your knee?" he asks.

"Hurts," I answer. More silence.

"So what is the verdict?" he asks.

"What?"

"About the house," he clarifies.

"Well," I say. "I guess it's not as bad as it looks on the outside. Not all the way through, anyway. Some parts are bad." I start to tell him all about what Alcide had shown me, taking deliberate care to not actually reference Alcide directly at any point. After I finished, I told him my idea for the property. I'd been ruminating on it for the last few days but I hadn't wanted to give it more thought until I'd seen the surveyor, and knew the state of the house. He thought about it, and asked some questions, and ultimately, he agreed that it was a sound plan.

Jason and Crystal had returned while we were talking. Eric asked if I wanted to come out for dinner but I really hadn't. I was basically done with my packing. I was sore and tired. He went out and made my excuses and brought back some food and a fresh (proper) ice pack for my knee. We spent what was technically my last night living at Gran's eating pizza in bed and watching two of Jason's action movies on my laptop. I went to sleep curled up next to Eric and feeling a bit ambivalent about how I'd be leaving here. I knew I did need to talk to Crystal before I left. That had to be resolved.

My opportunity came in the morning. I was up before Eric and I let him sleep. My knee was feeling a lot better, if a little stiff. It had been stumbling back across the cemetery at a breakneck pace yesterday that had really done me in, I knew. And I knew Eric knew it too, so I didn't have to really say anything. I figured that's why he'd taken special care of me last night. I showered and went out to the kitchen to put the coffee on before drying my hair. Crystal found me there, waiting for it to finish brewing.

"Good morning," she says.

"Good morning," I answer. "Jason still sleeping?"

"Yeah. It's his day for it, most of the time," she agrees.

After a pause, we both start in at the same moment with, "Listen, I..."

I smirked half-heartedly and told her to go ahead.

"I'm wondering if you want to come to church service with me," she says.

I nod. "Yeah, I'd like that," I tell her. "When do you want to leave?"

"Twenty minutes?" she suggests. I nod.

I poured coffee for her and myself and we stood drinking it for a few minutes before she asks me, "What were you going to say before?"

"It can keep 'til after church," I tell her. I set my cup down and went and got ready. I woke up Eric just enough to tell him that I was going and would be back within a couple of hours. We wouldn't be staying around for cake and tea afterwards, as Eric and I really would need to get going by then if we hoped to have everything unpacked tonight. So I threw on a sundress and some sandals and some light makeup and rode with Crystal to our church.

The sermon was about Do-It-Yourself home improvement shows on television. Not really, of course. The minister used the idea of watching people makeover old spaces in their homes as a metaphor for what we, as Christians, should do in our lives. When we notice an aspect of ourselves that is going unused, we should make a change, spruce ourselves up. Repurpose, refocus. One of the examples he had used was our compassion. We might recognize it's there, knowing we're compassionate people (in the same way we know we have a spare bedroom) but God would want us to put it to use. We need to make a change in our lives, like trying to help a friend, or starting charity work. He rounded out his simile by stating that our houses were like our hearts, and we should always open the doors to our neighbours and to God.

This happens to me often when I come to church, and it's one of the big reasons that I like to come at all, since I know very well that you can be a spiritual person without showing up in a pew on Sunday. It seemed like the minister spoke directly to me. Everything from starting in talking about houses and remaking things, focusing on the positives of what you have in your life, really resonated with me that morning. I know of course that sermons are like this by design; broad, and inviting personal interpretation. I knew that early summer was a time a lot of people worked on their homes, so naturally it wasn't just me to whom the subject matter would seem apropos. Still, I felt very close to God that morning. When we left the sanctuary I shook hands with the minister and thanked him with particular sincerity.

Crystal and I drove back to the house but once we got there, neither of us moved to get out of the car. It was time for our talk.

"Sookie, I'm sorry for what I said to you," she began. "I really don't think those things, that you're only with Eric for his money. He seems like a real great guy."

"Thank you, I think so too," I tell her. "And I accept your apology."

"It's been a hard week. Jason, the house, and finding out it can't be mended. You letting us stay here is so much to us, and I... I guess I'm embarrassed that my family isn't able to do the same for us. Could never. We would be on Mary's pull out sofa if it wasn't for you. I've been thinking about that and thinkin' about that, and getting' real... resentful. I'm sorry. And then you and your boyfriend came out, and my ugly thoughts just bubbled to the surface before I could clamp a hand over my mouth."

"Crystal, as far as I'm concerned you _are_ family to me. You're marrying my brother in a month. You're gonna be the momma to my niece or my nephew. I'm happy to have you here. Grateful even, that I have the space to share. You know that for my brother and me, a lot of what we've got has come from tragedy. It makes me feel good to use it for a good purpose."

She has started crying a little bit, so I pass her a tissue out of the little pack she has tucked into her car's centre console. I see Eric appear on the porch for a moment and give him a little wave so he knows we're okay out here, and he gives me a nod and goes back inside.

"Crystal, I need to talk to you about something," I say.

"What is it?" she sniffs, subsiding.

I take a deep breath. "I want you and Jason to take over the Loudermilk place."

She looks up at me with a bit of panic, so I put a hand up. "If you want to. But it seems like the perfect solution to all our problems. Jason loves to work on his house, and that is a house that will keep him busy for a long, long time. You two have the money coming in from the insurance, and that'll make a huge dent in the work that needs to be done to get it up and running, if not cover it outright. I don't want the place. I could never live in it or use it for myself. But you and Jason could make a home there, if you wanted."

"What does Jason say?" she asks, subdued.

"I didn't talk to him about it yet. I wanted to talk to you first."

She takes that in. "Do I have to let you know today?"

I shake my head at her. "No. You don't have to let me know any time in particular. I know it's a lot to think of taking on, with the wedding and the baby coming. It can wait a couple months. Like I told Jason, so long as you don't mind me coming up to visit now and again, you're more than welcome to stay at Gran's as long as you like."

"Then I'll... think about it."

"Alright."

We sat for a little while longer as she finished composing herself and then we went inside. Once there, I headed back to the bedroom, but she caught my arm.

"Do you mind if I talk to Eric for a minute?" she asks me.

"Go ahead," I say, though not without some trepidation.

I notice the men, or at least one of the men, went out to forage for breakfast this morning. I helped myself to a powdered doughnut from the dozen-sized box. There were only five left, so they've obviously eaten well in our absence. Eric comes out and joins me a few minutes later, and I hear Crystal close the door to the other bedroom.

"I guess your talk went okay?" he asks.

I nod, "Yes. What did Crystal want to say to you?"

"She apologized for her remarks to you, and for making me feel uncomfortable here."

It was a degree of consideration I really hadn't expected, but duly appreciated. I am sure I looked surprised as he said it. "Do you forgive her?" I ask.

"Yeah." He looks down at me then and smirks, brushing some powdered sugar off my face. "We need to hit the road, Miss Stackhouse."

"Let's go then," I say, and lean up to give him a long kiss.


	22. None of Your Beeswax

A/N: A few quick points to make today...I made a little error in the last chapter. Sookie poured coffee for Crystal after I made the whole point about her being on decaf teas exclusively. Assume that like me, Sookie was just being forgetful in the early morning, and Crystal did not drink it.

I've had some questions about Eric-specific information that I don't plan to cover in the main story. So, I've started working on an EPOV outtake set during chapter 21. I'll focus on his inner musings as well as Eric and Jason's _rad bromance_. So, I'm going to throw that up after the epilogue. In the meantime if you have anything you're curious about that you haven't already mentioned, feel free to send me a PM, and I'll try to answer questions this way. Should be a fun way to wrap this up! :)

Thank you to everyone who is continuing (or just starting) to read and review this story! It is wonderful to have feedback and to hear from those who are enjoying it.

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><p>We were too tired on Sunday night to attempt a live test with Eric's theories regarding my new shower's dimensions. The last thing we took off the truck was the new bed and it was a struggle even getting Eric, who'd collapsed on top of it as soon as it was in its frame, to get up so I could put the sheets on. I shooed him into the bathroom to wash up and quickly dressed the bed then spent the last of my energy on my own quick shower. We were out like lights. Professional moving services were definitely the way to go, even if you're only going a few hours away, was my last sleepy thought.<p>

We had no choice but to wake early since the truck was due back and he had to get ready for work. I followed behind him as he drove back to the depot and then he went to find us coffee while I waited for them to check everything over, and to pay. I dropped Eric off and we had a sweet, albeit cramped and quick, goodbye. I thanked him for helping me move and he told me he would call me later. I stopped and bought some groceries on my way back to the house.

Unpacking was a monumental project, but one that had to be done. We'd just got everything inside last night, so my living room was stacked full of cardboard. I had no strategy for tackling the chore. I just dove in. The books were the worst. Seriously, in the future, books are being stored on the ground floor. No more of this upstairs office crap. Never again. I was panting when I ran back downstairs and answered a phone call from Arlene. She was on her way over and bringing me lunch. What a sweetie. I debated another shower, but as I had more work to do and would just get sweaty again in the afternoon, she was going to have to take me as she found me.

My considerate, homemaker of a friend turned up with a huge picnic basket brimming with gourmet foods and a bottle of wine. She had even gone so far as to pick out some plain, inexpensive real dishes to pack inside, just some white ceramic plates and simple wine glasses and cutlery. I was very touched. We enjoyed the food and the wine and I had plenty of leftovers and little snacks for later in the week. I told her a little bit about our crazy weekend. She was very interested in the Loudermilk house and agreed that offering it to Jason and Crystal was a nice solution. She was curious about Alcide and seemed to be probing pretty hard to determine if there was anything between us. I told her that he seemed like a nice guy, but I wasn't interested in anyone but Eric. That promptly spurred her toward making suggestions about our long and happy future together. I smiled and indulged her only to an extent. There's just no middle ground with some people.

My attempts at aloofness weren't helped by the arrival of flowers from Eric. He'd actually sent two things, which was a little overwhelming. After the delivery man had handed over the first, a large, potted orchid with pale peach blooms spotted with magenta, he gave a jaunty, "But wait, there's more!" in the style of Billie Mays and the best of infomercials. It was cute and Arlene and I laughed merrily. Then he jogged back to his truck and returned with a large bouquet of pale pink and lavender roses, interspersed with vivid yellow ones. That must be a really fun job, just brightening people's worlds and making them smile, all day long. The card tucked into the bouquet read, "Thinking of you, always. -E" I got a little mushy there for a moment. I excused myself from Arlene for a moment and brought my orchid plant upstairs to put on the little nightstand next to my bed. I called Eric.

"Hey," he answers, warmly.

"Hi," I grin. "Thank you for my flowers, both of them. They're lovely."

"I'm glad. I thought you might like some colour in your room until you decide what you're doing in there."

I smile. "I'm just putting the orchids in here now," I tell him. "The roses are staying downstairs so I can show off what a sweet boyfriend I have to all my guests."

"All your guests, hm?" he asks.

"Arlene's over. She brought me basket full of goodies."

"That's nice. I will let you get back to her then, I'm a bit busy."

"Alright, talk to you later?" I ask.

"Much, I think. I have a full afternoon. Sophie Ann's coming tomorrow."

"Mm. Okay. Have fun being ruthless and cunning."

He laughs. "I will try. Goodbye Sookie."

I went back to Arlene and we finished up our lunch while she continued to admire my roses, perhaps a little longingly. I wished I were friendly with her husband at all. He clearly needs to be reminded to bring her home some flowers. She stayed and chatted with me for a while after I'd cleared the lunch things, watching me unpack some of my kitchen gadgets from a box that I hadn't touched since I'd moved out of the condo. She admired a lot of my handy little tools and the fleur-de-lis patterned towels I hung from the handles on my stove. She loved the stove. She seemed to be lingering. The afternoon is wearing on a bit now and I feel like in the normal course she would have been off home making lentil chilli for her husband or something.

"Everything alright Arlene?" I ask casually over my shoulder.

She didn't answer right away, so I turned to look her straight on and immediately saw her little frown and furrowed brow that answered my question with a clear, "No."

"Arlene?" I ask, coming over to rejoin her at the table.

"I don't want to butt in, but it's really bothering me," she explains.

"Well, then be delicate," I suggest with a smile.

"Tara says you're mad at her, and she doesn't understand why," she blabs out.

"Oh," I answer. That's really the last thing I was expecting. I figured it to be a problem with her husband, honestly. The idea that Tara had been discussing me with Arlene was surprising. I honestly hadn't assumed that Tara would notice that I've been avoiding her. I guess I hadn't been giving her enough credit.

"So you are then!" Arlene says accusingly.

I sigh. "I don't know. No. Not mad. I can't really explain it," I say. Arlene is about to interrupt me so I press on. "Can't is the right word there. It's related to things that I _can't_ discuss," I stress. "As in not at liberty to."

"Is this about what she told you about Area Five?"

"She told you that!" I exclaim.

"We were trying to figure out why you weren't calling her... she said she's called you a few times but you never call her back, and she was thinking you were really busy, but I said that's funny because you call me back... Then we were trying to piece it together, and she said she hadn't actually seen you at all since that day we all had lunch and that was nearly three months ago."

"And what did she tell you about what she told me that day?"

"She said she told you Bill was going to get screwed."

"Yeah, she did. Not that that's going to happen now. He's gone to work with her now. Well, not with her. Same company. I think he's at their Little Rock office though."

"Yeah, he is," Arlene answers. I raise an eyebrow. "She told me," she clarifies.

"She shouldn't be talking about that stuff. That's the whole problem. She told me something I didn't want to know, and it put me in a bad position."

"Yeah, but it was good though."

"Meaning?" I ask stiffly.

"Well you are dating Eric Northman now, and you told him what she told you, and..."

"What?"

"She told me you told Eric and he got in touch with her, but now you're still not speaking to her, and my birthday is coming up and I want to have all the girls for lunch but if you and she are not talking that will ruin it."

"Wait, back up," I halted. Full on stop gesture with my palm out, too. "She knows that I told Eric... and she told you that? And she said Eric got in touch with her?"

"Yeah, she said she's been helping Eric, and so she didn't get why you were still mad..."

Here I'd thought that my days of being clueless were over. Well, that may or may not be the point right now, that remains to be seen. "Arlene, start over. Tell me everything she told you," I order. "Everything."

I listen, trying to maintain an impassive face. She repeats that Tara had told her that she'd said something to me about Area Five being in trouble, which was good at the time because Bill worked there, but then Bill left. Eric had approached her at some point about the work she was doing. She immediately freaked out and told David what she'd told me, but then he told _her_ that it was okay because David and Eric are doing a deal. They'd been helping Eric ever since. How am I doing with the face? At least my mouth isn't gaping open.

"So now she is left wondering what else she did wrong, because she's on Eric's side and you're on Eric's side, and it all should be fine... but you're still not talking to her."

I gave an exasperated sigh, my mind too busily engaged processing this new information to remember my manners. "Look, the way she came off so vindictive really put me off. I know she was trying to be a friend when she told me originally about Bill's job being under imminent threat, but it was ugly. I know things like that have to be done in business but you don't have to enjoy it. But she did. She..."

I frown, interrupting my own stream of thought with the more pressing issue. "Arlene you can't repeat any of this. You shouldn't know any of this. _I_ shouldn't know any of this. This is really sensitive information. Tara would lose her job for doing this stuff you say she's doing. For even _telling _this stuff to you! Maybe she _should_ lose her job. Where in the heck is her discretion?" I ask, but not particularly of Arlene, just of the world in general.

"Sookie, you know I would never tell a secret." But you just told me, didn't you? I know that what she actually means is that she would never tell a secret to anyone who couldn't be trusted, to anyone outside our circle. That's not good enough right now.

"I am serious. You can't repeat this stuff to anyone else. Not even Whit. Forget you ever heard it."

"Who am I going to tell?"

"Freaking no one, Arlene!"

"Okay, okay, I get it," she holds up her hands in a gesture of surrender. I'm on a tear.

"This is exactly the thing. People are put in this bad situation where they know more than they should, and they're worse for the knowing."

"But there is no harm, right? You are all on the same side of this?"

"Yeah, I'm sure it'll be a real confidence booster for Eric to know that she's still running her mouth all over town, especially if it's true that she's now _his_ liability. Yeah, I'm sure he'll see no harm at all," I roll my eyes to punctuate my great sarcasm. He will see harm. I know that much.

"So you're upset that she told you and me the truth?"

"No! I'm upset that she put me in a position where I was seriously conflicted for having been told. I wasn't exactly with Eric at the time, but I still had to say something. I was totally freaking out. If not for Amelia talking me down, who knows, I would probably still be freaking out."

"You told Amelia," she says flatly.

"Of course I told Amelia, I was really upset and had no one else to talk to."

"So that's okay, but you get mad at her for talking to me or to you."

"I'm not mad at her for talking to you. And it wasn't the same with me, she wasn't confiding in me out of necessity. She was gloating. If I'm mad at her for talking at all, I'm mad at her for talking, period. It's different with _us_, you know that," I tell her.

"Right, because it's you and Amelia, it's different."

I glare are the floor. She doesn't get it. Tara is directly involved with this and therefore she's held to a different standard. And that's basically the only thing that's keeping me from getting upset with Eric right now - because while part of me is screaming "What the heck, why didn't he tell me this?" the other part is calmly saying, "There's no reason why he should have." Now that I know though, I'm going to have to say something.

"Arlene," I begin, taking a breath and speaking with something a lot closer to my normal tone of voice. "I felt compromised by what she told me. It was an inappropriate burden to lay on me. Even if I was angry with Bill at the time, it's not like what was going on would have affected just Bill. It would have impacted dozens of people I've known casually, and hundreds more besides that. It's the way she's being so cavalier with this sensitive information that has put me off."

"Are you ever going to talk to her again?" Arlene asks.

"Yes, but, probably not until this all blows over."

"I should be going home," Arlene announces abruptly.

"Alright..." I say.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to say anything about any of this to anyone. But you should talk to Tara, sooner rather than later. You both have other friends and it feels real awkward to be caught in the middle of your fighting."

"Are you upset with _me_ now?" She sure sounds like it.

"No. No, I'm not," Arlene softens a little. "I just should have probably stayed out of it. Don't be mad at me. Try not to be madder at her."

She left pretty quickly after that, hugging me goodbye. The hug had seemed important. I think I held on a few seconds longer than she expected, but I felt it was necessary to impress the point that she and I were okay. I went back to the kitchen table to stew. It seemed like the right room for it. Tara and David were apparently acting as Eric's inside men in some fashion. I wondered how that had happened, and if Eric would tell me when I asked. I would be asking. I want to call him right away, but I know he is busy. He will want to know that Tara was still being a blabbermouth, even more so if he was working with her in some way. It explained a couple of things, really. The fact that he'd seen enough of Tara that she was using him to convey greetings to me was one. The fact that David and Eric were meeting in private at awkward times, another.

Ugh. No wonder Bill never had trouble keeping the wool pulled over my eyes. It's not like I'm dumb, I guess I'm just very accepting. Plus, I've been incredibly busy these last weeks. I don't question things that don't immediately need to be questioned though. I'm not particularly nosy, no more so than anyone else really. Obviously I'm curious when it comes to things that pertain to me or my friends. I'm not unconcerned. I was certainly curious about this, now I had a hint of it, but I hadn't gone looking for that hint. The one you can trust to keep your privacy is the one who doesn't pry. That was more of Gran's wisdom. I tried to be that person.

As far as Eric not telling me about all this stuff goes, I wasn't mad. Maybe a little hurt. A little. But only because I would have felt a little more secure about his efforts if I knew he had help from within the enemy camp, as I'd been thinking of Arkansas Confederate. Maybe just a little because it could mean he didn't trust me. I finally decided to send him a text, based on the fact that he liked having information sooner rather than later.

"OUR friend Tara still a chatterbox. Please call when you have time."

I figured that conveyed a whole lot very succinctly. I got one back immediately saying that he'd be done by eight o'clock and he would see me then, so I took that to mean that he was coming over after work. I went back to unpacking until around seven thirty, and then I made us some dinner. I'd made a whole lot of progress unpacking today, but I was not quite done. I did manage to get most things in place, and everything that was still left in the living room I'd pushed against the walls. Not long after eight there was a knock at the door and I answer for Eric. He looks a bit tired and no wonder since we'd been up so early. Looking past him I see that there's a bright red car parked at the end of my driveway.

"Is that yours?" I ask pointing.

"Yeah," he smiles. "Pam had it shipped and it got back today. I haven't driven it in weeks so I thought I would. Come see."

I smirk but let him lead me by the hand out to see his red corvette. I do my very best to try and observe the differences between this one and the blue one as he points them out. I didn't do very well actually perceiving them. It seemed to be basically the exact same car in a different colour. I did pay attention to everything he said though.

"Do you like it?" he asks.

"It's very nice. Very flashy!" I smile. "I like the blue one better though. It matches your eyes."

"You just haven't been for a ride in this one, you are biased."

"Well maybe you will take me for a ride in it sometime?"

"Yes. Not tonight though, unless I hallucinated the smell of dinner a minute ago and we need to go out for it."

"There's dinner. It's not fancy though, just chicken and rice and some veg."

"It sounds great."

I lead him inside and set out the table, dividing what was left of the bottle of wine Arlene brought between two of the new glasses. He tastes it while I'm fixing our plates off the stove, giving an approving comment. I don't bother with serving dishes. It's a whopping four paces to the stove if he wants seconds.

"So you're keeping both cars?" I ask, setting his plate down in front of him and taking my seat.

"Probably not. I just wanted a little more time with it before I get rid of it. If I'm being honest, the new one drives better. I have fond memories of that one, though."

We continue on like that for a few minutes, having nice normal dinner conversation about nothing of importance. There is a strange vibe in the room that we both seem to be trying to ignore. We can't hold off anymore when there is a lull in the conversation and neither of us seem able to think of anything else to say.

"So, you talked to Tara today?" he asks, getting there first.

"No. Apparently Tara's not as oblivious to the fact that I've been avoiding her as I expected, and she talked to Arlene. She told Arlene what she's been up to as pertains to you. Tara believes that since we are now all 'on the same side' that I have no reason to be mad at her. Eric, why didn't you tell me she's helping you?" I finish with a hint of frustration at the end.

"Several reasons I suppose." I watch expectantly as he takes another bite of the seasoned rice, chews and swallows. He takes a sip of his wine. He is buying time to consider his answer.

"First, because I know that you remain upset with her, and you have been avoiding her of your own volition. I have not mentioned her to you at all except on those occasions when she specifically asked me to tell you her hellos, so as not to bring up what I know is a sore subject. Second, as a test of sorts, for her. When I confronted her about her past indiscretion she assured me that this would not be a problem in the future. She's obviously failed on that point if you've become aware of the situation. Third, without offence, it's none of your business. This has all been treated as need-to-know."

I breathe out a sigh. I shouldn't really be surprised to discover that I'd be having this conversation with Businessman Eric, but I was still a little disappointed to see him at my dinner table. I did a minor shift of my internal gears, bringing out my rational arguments. I'm not great at this when it comes to him, but I give it a try. "Can I tell you why it _is_ my business a little bit?"

His mouth is full again so he simply gives me a nod and I continue. "I worry about how things are going for you. You've said you have a plan, but I don't know the details. It would have been a comfort for me to know that you had more help than I knew of. I've been thinking all the while that it's been you and Pam against the world, and Eric, you're clever as hell, but I don't love those odds. And... I'll preface this next bit by saying that I know you have a lot on your plate, and I'm not trying to sound needy or anything, but it hurts my feelings a little bit that you wouldn't _want_ to share with me."

"Obviously nothing was left unsaid with the intention of hurting your feelings," he answers quickly.

"I know that. I do not think you were trying to hurt my feelings, I am just saying that I cannot help it that they were a little bit. I thought that I'd earned your trust on the subject of your secret work things. So I guess your not confiding in me makes me doubt that."

"Again, this is not intentional. You'll understand of course that this particular instance has been carried out very clandestinely. Even Sophie Ann is not aware of all my contacts at Arkansas. I've given her the broad details, but she won't get the specifics until she gets here."

I frown. He is not quite getting it. "It was unpleasant to hear, from someone who is a stranger to you, details about what you've been up to on a daily basis. I know that I might often seem uninterested, but maybe that's not a good thing. In the past I have let myself go along unquestioning, and it was to my detriment in the end. I don't make any kind of comparison between what you're up to and past situations, but I should be learning from my mistakes. I may not be interested in corporate endeavours, but I am very interested in Eric endeavours. I want to feel like I can ask more things, and that you'll tell me."

"I will admit, I have enjoyed putting thoughts of work aside for the most part when we are together. You have observed before that it seems work is my whole life. Perhaps I am also trying to learn from my mistakes."

"May I be blunt?"

"Why stop now?" he smirks. I'm very grateful to see his little smile in this moment. This back and forth has been very stilted and tense.

"That last statement sounded like a textbook definition of compartmentalisation, and while yes, it's technically good progress to have more than one compartment, I don't think that's what anyone should be shooting for as an end goal. Oh God, that sounded so rude," I say hastily. "I'm not trying to criticize you. I just love you and I want you to share things with me. Oh God, that really does sound so 'needy girlfriend' doesn't it? 'I want you to share with me?'" What am I even saying to him? I replay my words to myself. "Oh God, I love you!" I blurt out, then I literally slap my hand across my mouth. I'd been quoting myself, and I ended up saying that twice. Jesus H. Christ. I glare at my wine glass, which has only one sip or so left in it. I don't think it's really been enough that I can lay blame there. Well done, Stackhouse.

He is now looking at me with a bemused expression, saying nothing.

"Fine, whatever. That just came out by accident but I will own it. I love you. You don't have to respond to it," I acknowledge. "The point is, I care about you and hope you will not exclude me from things that are important to you, even if they don't expressly pertain to me."

"Alright," he says.

"Alright?" I ask.

"Yes."

"More detail on the part that's alright, please," I prompt.

Finishing his plate he wipes his mouth with his napkin and fixes me with a steady gaze. "You are saying that you wish to be more of a part of my whole life and not a separate part of my life, because you love me, and this is important to you," he summarizes. "That will be alright with me. I will try to work on that."

"Well, thank you," I say, losing all my steam.

"You're welcome. I think I love you too, just to clear that from the air. I know the appropriate time to say so is highly variable. I was waiting for your cue there, so thank you as well."

"You're welcome," I smile, maybe a little shyly.

I let out a happy sigh and just sit there staring at him for a few seconds. He loves me. That's... that's just excellent.

"Oh, hey, I got you a present," I say, jumping up suddenly. I grab his hand and pull him up out of the chair, abandoning the mess from dinner and leading him upstairs. He seems ready to turn into the bedroom but I go through to the bathroom instead. I have placed the toothbrush I had bought for him this morning in the little ceramic holder built into the wall, next to mine. I gesture to it like a Price is Right model showing off a showcase.

"Am I the blue one?" he asks.

"Unless you want to be pink," I grin back.

He proceeds to try out his gift, and not to be the only one with garlicky breath, I brush as well. When we're done he bends to kiss me and it goes on and on as he cups my cheek with one hand and presses me to him around my back with the other. We stepped very slowly out of the bathroom and back down the short hall, not wanting to let go of each other. I suppose it's quite customary to make love after the declarations of downstairs. What can I say, really? Sometimes it's pretty great being a slave to convention.

Much later on we were happily snuggled in my bed. He'd already decided to stay tonight. It hadn't originally been part of the plan but all our plans for the evening had become very flexible.

"Tell me how it came to be that Tara and David are helping you," I ask.

He sighs. "You won't like it."

"Tell me anyway," I say, leaning over to kiss his chest.

He gives me a squeeze and then leans back a bit to tuck his arm under his head. "Well it was actually Jade that we got first, and that happened almost by accident."

I gasp. "Jade Chou is helping you against Peter too?"

"Yeah. She's got a lot of issues with the way he runs their company. I guess it's been tense for a while now. And like I said, she's very passive in the conference room until she can't restrain herself, so a lot of small things end up becoming big things. She was excited about the merger before, as I was, since it just makes sense for both companies. Then Peter started to get ideas about just taking over outright, taking our assets and eliminating jobs. It's not smart business. I can see his motivations, I mean it's always more desirable not to share, to not have employees with split loyalties. I just don't agree with it in this instance. Anyway, she made a very bold remark to me at one point expressing her disapproval, and it blossomed from there."

"And that's why you never minded that I was talking to her."

"Certainly not the only reason, and more for her, than for you. It will be good for her to know more people in New Orleans for when she moves here. It adds to her comfort on a personal level, with making such a big change. Mainly I really did think you two would get along. And you do, so I was right about this," he smirks smugly. "Anyway, so we got her first. I wasn't intending on using Tara at all, but then we learned that she was dating David Threadgill seriously and that was just too good of an opportunity to pass up. So I confronted her with Jade, and we basically uh, talked, about the benefits of assisting us and the uh, detriments of not doing so..." he trails off.

"Eric. Are you saying you blackmailed my friend?"

"Well. _Yes_," he admits, having the decency to look a little guilty. "I told you that you wouldn't like it. She didn't have any information that Jade couldn't have gotten herself, so it wasn't really a serious attempt at coercion. It was just the appearance of one, really. Her value was as the inroad to David. We were counting on her to confess her predicament to him and though it took a couple of days, she did. Once I got him alone in a confrontation, I was able to put him off his guard and play on some of the issues of fathers and sons, dropping in all the little slights, the trappings of nepotism. Turns out it actually didn't take much to convince him that the hour for him to be his own man was upon him. He's going to be stepping into my old position at Area Five."

"I thought you didn't like David?"

"Eh. I didn't, or don't, not particularly, but I do _know_ him. I'm not the only one who has dismissed him as his father's lapdog in the past, and he knows _that_. No one wants to be that. So I provide him with the perfect opportunity to shirk a lifetime of sycophantism in this, and he gains some self respect and he'll gain some reputation in the corporate world as more of a shark, and that will serve him well in the future."

"So what's he actually doing for you?"

"Do you not want to be surprised?" he asks. "You are still coming to our meeting on Thursday, yes? It should be some fine theatre." Oops. I'd actually forgotten it was so soon.

I grin. "If you would prefer, then. I'll find out when everyone else does."

"Good then," he says, giving my temple a kiss.

We talked for a little while longer about some of the finer details of what he's been up to trying to orchestrate the big switcheroo. He also mentioned that David was planning to propose to Tara this weekend, a fact that he credited as part of David's willingness to strike out on his own. I compared it with dragging the big mammoth carcass back to the cave and that made him erupt with laughter. Eric told me that he and David had become something like friends over the last few weeks, bonding over the shared experience of saying a figurative "Fuck you," to their respective fathers. His words, not mine. He also said that the lingering uneasiness between he and Tara had largely abated, once it became clear that they were all cohorts together. I knew that he still didn't think particularly well of her, and I couldn't really expect him to. I thought maybe in the fullness of time, they could be a couple we were friends with, though. Probably not close friends, I didn't think I'd ever be close friends with Tara again, but still friends.

We woke up on Tuesday to Eric's phone ringing with a very snitty Pam on the other end. Eric had to get going or he would risk missing an early appointment and incurring her wrath. I made coffee while he showered and gave him one of my travel mugs as he hurried out the door in the pair of jeans and t-shirt that had somehow gotten packed in with my clothes, to his great convenience this morning. I watched him from the door as he jogged down the driveway after kissing me goodbye and hurled himself into the little red car. It was a pretty picturesque sight, with his hair down and all. He gave a little wave and took off. I noticed his suit jacket was still on my coat rack so I carried it upstairs and collected his pants where they'd been discarded on the floor. I wondered briefly if I should have them cleaned for him or something but settled instead on just hanging them in my closet. I'd take them the next time I had things of my own. I didn't even know who the good drycleaner was in this neighbourhood, anyway.

The kitchen was still pretty much a disaster area from the night before. I hate leaving a mess for the morning but when your gorgeous boyfriend tells you he loves you and wants to spend the rest of the night making sweet, sweet love and cuddling, you don't jump out of bed to wash the casserole dish. At least I don't! I stoppered the sink and left the whole mess to soaking and then went about tackling some more of the unpacking. I was back at the sink in the afternoon and staring idly out the little window when I saw Madge coming up the little back walkway with Patti Parker and Inge Northman in tow. I smile and give them a little wave, hastily finishing my work and ducking into the powder room to smooth my hair back. Just like with Arlene yesterday, these ladies can take me as they find me, I think, glancing down at my dishwater-splashed thighs.

"Welcome wagon!" Patti squealed as I open the door. I can't help but smile as I step back to let them in.

"Oh it's so cute in here already!" Madge said, looking around with a smile.

"Thank you," I acknowledge. "I've got a lot to work on still but it's a good start!"

They had brought me treats from the same bakery from where Inge's raspberry torte had come. I served tea, mainly because I did have a full set of Gran's teacups and saucers, which had come back from Seattle, as opposed to three mismatched coffee cups and the travel mugs, which I was certainly not going to present to these ladies. I showed them to the table, happy that I had gotten it straightened out. I had one of Gran's table cloths down and the flowers from Eric as a centrepiece. It looked charming, if I do say so myself. I moved the flowers out of the way and Madge helped me to unpack the little pastry boxes onto a platter while the older ladies sat down.

We spent an enjoyable hour chatting about the neighbourhood. They had recommendations for me for restaurants and shops and cute little places I just _had_ to stop in and see. Unfortunately not a one of them could advise me where to go to get a suit cleaned, but Inge promised me she would check with Greta and let me know. Patti and Madge were full of chatter about upcoming happenings that I just _had_ to turn up to, with Eric of course. Inge and I had exchanged a single glance the first time it was mentioned and she gave me a smile. I took it as cheeky. Maybe she was going to back off, but she couldn't be held accountable for her friends. When they did leave I told her I thought we'd see her Sunday.

I met Eric and Pam for dinner that night, and for the first time they were a lot freer about discussing things that had happened at work in front of me. Pam had been momentarily taken aback when he raised the subject, shooting quick looks from Eric to me and back to him again, but she soon settled to following his lead. Though I wasn't able to add much to their conversation, it was nice to be included. I'd driven myself so I got a serious kiss and an, 'I love you' in the parking lot before I left for home and he took Pam back to the hotel. I spent the rest of the night working on my curriculum and went to bed feeling like if the last two days had been representative of life in New Orleans this time around, then that was going to be just fine.

Amelia and I had lunch on Wednesday and I told her that the big Area Five general meeting was tomorrow, and she immediately decided that she wanted to come. I wasn't sure if she would be allowed. I would be Eric's guest, but these aren't public meetings, and I wasn't sure if she could just walk in. She answered that by pulling out her phone and buying two shares of Area Five stock, just like that. I hadn't told her all the details of what Eric had told me. I'd shared, in hushed tones, a little bit about what Tara had told Arlene. Amelia had been following the saga from the start, and I felt she was owed a little bit of explanation now that it was almost over. When she pushed for some details I wasn't comfortable sharing, I distracted her with the news that David was going to propose to Tara.

Aside from unbiased curiosity, the other reason that Amelia expressed a big interest in coming with me was so that I wouldn't be alone if I ran into Bill or Lorena. She wanted to finally meet Eric too of course. They probably wouldn't have much time to talk though, at least until afterwards. He'd be with the other executives most of the time and Pam would be shadowing him. He'd already explained that he wouldn't be able to stay by my side much and I didn't mind, but having Amelia along with me would be great. Eric's bosses had arrived in town and he was absolutely indisposed all day as they were busy preparing for tomorrow. I called Pam before I parted ways with Amelia to make sure that her joining us was okay.

"You want to bring along one of your sorority friends to watch Eric vivisect Peter Threadgill?" she asked.

"Tell her I'm a shareholder," Amelia said.

She was standing right next to me, listening into the phone, so she heard Pam, and Pam most assuredly heard her comment. Nonetheless I repeated, "She's a shareholder, Pam," she's entitled to come.

"What did she do, buy one share today while you were at lunch just so she could say that?" Pam asks.

"Two shares," Amelia clarified as I started snickering.

"Very well, laughing hens. Sookie, we're still picking you up in the morning between eight thirty and eight forty-five, so if your friend is coming that is when she needs to be there. We will not have any time to wait. You must be ready to go, and for the love of fucking if you come out of that house wearing sandals and a sundress you're not getting in the car."

"I'm wearing my blue suit, Pam," I say seriously. She had already given me the run-down on being properly business-attired.

"Oh, I'll wear my new cream coloured one," Amelia says.

"No. I am wearing cream," Pam snaps.

"Well how about black then?" Amelia asks.

"This is a shareholders' meeting, not a funeral. Wear grey," she barks.

"Um, okay," my friend replies, cowed.

"Well, we can see you're very busy Pam," I say.

"Yes. Eric and I will see you in the morning. Be ready at eight thirty," she repeats.

"Got it," I confirm, hanging up.

"She's a little intense," Amelia observes.

"She is, but usually a little more cheerfully. She's very stressed this week, I imagine."

"Sounds like she could use another sojourn in the day spa," Amelia mocks.

"Hey, don't be mean about Pam. She works really hard. You guys would actually get along really well, I think."

"Oh yeah, she sounds just peachy," my friend quips.

Amelia had to go get back to work, so I head home as well and work in my own right. I haven't talked to Eric all day. It seems like a first, in what seems like a long time, even though it wasn't actually very long that we'd been carrying on that way. By nine or so I found myself seriously missing him, so when I heard the knock on the door I leapt up from my desk and ran downstairs, flinging it open with a huge smile on my face.

"You know why don't you just take the extra set of key-" I stop short.

"Good evening, Sookie."

"What are you doing here, Bill?"

I push the door well open and take a firm stance in front of it with my hands going to my hips. I watch as my ex swallows hard and takes in my appearance. I'm wearing short sleep shorts and a tank top without a bra. Not the best outfit choice, but I'd hardly been expecting company. Screw it. This is nothing he hasn't seen before and I'm not about to let him make me feel uncomfortable in my own doorway.

"Well?" I demand.

"I've wanted the opportunity to speak with you for some time, but have been prevented from doing so. I hope you don't mind my calling at this late hour," he seems to recite.

"I do mind, actually, and you can step back off my stoop."

I watch as he docilely retreats the couple of steps back before turning to look up at me. "I'm glad to see you have healed. Sookie, there's a lot that was never said between us..."

"Oh, you sure are right about that! Where are we starting then? You were married before? You never said that. You were screwing her the whole time we were together? You never said that. The company pays a stipend for my rent the entire time we were living together? You never said that. How about 'I'm a lying piece of shit, and I am truly sorry for wasting three years of your time.' You've never said THAT, and it's about the only thing I want to hear from you."

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Not hardly. Get out of here," I wave him off.

"Sookie, wait," he pleads.

"What do you want?"

"I did - I do - want to apologize. I loved you. I love you. I know there's no chance of us reconciling. I'm not begging for that. I know I blew it with you, in a dozen different ways. I know that letter I wrote you was cold. It had to be, or my lawyer wouldn't let me send it, but there's so much else I wanted to say, but you would never let me talk to you. They said you're going to be there tomorrow and I just... I had to see you, alone."

"Yeah, I was wondering where your skank ho harridan is tonight. Let you off your leash for the evening?" I drawl.

"She's still at a meeting," he doesn't even argue my accurate description. "They're preparing for a...presentation...tomorrow," he says carefully.

"Oh look, you're still a _big fat liar_," I observe. I hear a car slow on the street and a door slam.

His eyes come to me now and there's a split second of recognition. I know exactly what he's talking about, what meeting, and even the manner of their 'preparation'.

"Well now you've seen me. Anything else?"

"Are you really with Eric Northman now?"

"That's none of your business."

"Right. I know, you're right. I hope he treats you well. I've heard he's leaving Area Five. It's good. After tomorrow...well. It's good for both of you that he's getting out of there. He'll be able to look out for you. I do regret the way I went about things with you Sookie."

I notice Eric standing at the edge of the driveway. I'd guessed it was him arriving when I heard the car out front. This isn't exactly a busy street and I'm sort of starting to recognize the sound of the Corvette. I can't see his eyes as he's standing in the dark, but I do my best to look directly at him. I know he can see me, as I'm in the light from the entry. Bill hasn't noticed though. His back is to Eric.

"Bill," I sigh. "What did you want from me?"

"I just hoped to talk to you and tell you what I couldn't say, before seeing you tomorrow..."

"No," I interrupt him. "What did you want from me. When we were together. You hid _everything_ from me. Everything with you was a lie. Why did you do that _to me_? What did you want?"

"I wanted you..."

"Bullshit," I call.

"It wasn't. You were delicate, and kind. I wanted you. I had been married before, yes. Lorena had been like you once, or I thought she was, but when we were struggling, as I struggled, she...eventually she left. I wanted to... to prevent that, with you. To shield you."

"I see," I say. I suppose she'd been right in a way, if he was being honest with me now. I'd always been in her shadow. Somehow I found myself feeling oddly grateful to her. I mean, if not for her, I probably would have married this guy. "Well thanks, Bill, for clearing that up. If you've said your peace now, you can go on and get."

He looks oddly deflated, standing there. Eric is coming up the driveway now. He'd been waiting for me to dismiss Bill before approaching, I guess.

"Hey lover," he says with a grin as he reaches me. His hand slinks around my waist in the manner I'm coming to recognize as possessive. I don't exactly mind right now. "Compton," he greets as he turns back to Bill.

"Eric."

"Did you need anything else here, Compton? You've got an early morning, haven't you?" Eric asks, almost blithely.

"No. I just wanted to speak to Sookie."

"And you've done so. Off you go now." He turns and kisses me on the top of the head and says, "You should go inside, it's getting cool. I'll lock up."

I smirk at him, because he's just planting the figurative flag in front of Bill at this point, to put it politely. I lean up and kiss him and retreat upstairs inside my little house to grab a sweatshirt. I come back down just as Eric's closing the door.

"I'm glad I had the impulse to stop by on my way home," he says. "How long was he here?"

"Only a couple of minutes before you got here. You would be so proud, I totally recognized the Corvette noise."

"Purr. It's called a purr. The purr of the engine," he explains.

"Yes, that," I agree.

"I really don't like him showing up here. You should really have called the police."

"I will if he does again, but I don't think he will. Did you hear him?"

"A bit. Why was he here?"

"I think he just wanted to talk, honestly. He sort-of apologized, I guess."

"You sound unimpressed."

"He's unimpressive. Are you staying?" I ask him. "Pam will be pissed if you're not ready to go bright and early in the morning."

"I know. I can't stay. I found I was missing you and just wanted to stop by."

"Mm," I murmur. "You were missing me?" I step a little closer to him, enjoying it as his eyes go a little glazed. I'd put on the sweatshirt, but my legs were still bare, and I was using my sexy voice.

"Yes."

"I missed you too."

"Ugh. Sookie I can't stay."

"I know."

"I wish I could," he says.

"I know," I smile. I kiss him. I got several long minutes of quality kissing before he pulled away from me.

"I have to go. I need a full night's sleep and I have to be up really early. I'll see you in the morning."

"Alright," I sigh. "I'll just take care of myself tonight," I pout. I get a swat on the butt for that one, and I burst out laughing. I'd been laying it on really thick. I guess I kind of felt compelled, with the impromptu appearance of Bill, to make it clear to him that he was the only man on my mind. I hold up a hand for a moment and scamper back to the kitchen to retrieve the spare keys. I give them to Eric, explaining that when I heard what I thought was him knocking tonight, my first thought was that I should just give them to him.

I'm surprised to see when he takes them out that the keychain he's using is the one I sent him in the basket weeks and weeks ago. "Hey, that's the one I gave you," I say.

He looks at it. "Oh, yeah. I was using it in Seattle, for when I wasn't here. I like it."

I smile at that, incredibly pleased by the small thing. I give him one more kiss and send him on his way, before going upstairs. He was gone all of ten minutes before I heard him let himself in downstairs. I was on my bed reading. He pauses at my open door to explain, "Okay, I can stay till eleven, but for the sake of time management, I have to shower." I grin, and happily get up to join him.


	23. Swarming

A/N: So, I learned a fun fact from Thyra today. Apparently Inge and Sten (Hegeler, not Northman) are the names of two well known sexologists from Denmark. My characters' naming was pure coincidence! (Though perhaps it's why neither really batted an eyelash when they came upon Eric with a strange woman in tow!)

So, this is it, y'all. There will be a shorter epilogue, and the Eric outtake. :)

* * *

><p>Amelia arrived at my house at eight fifteen on Thursday morning, dressed to impress in a silvery-grey jacket and pants with a fuchsia blouse and matching pumps. It might have been a little bold, but she looked chic and stylish. Just for good measure, she was carrying a ridiculously expensive purse. I felt a little plain Jane beside her in my navy suit and navy pumps with a white button shirt underneath. I had swept my hair off my neck into an elegant French twist and wore some nice sapphire stud earrings that had been a gift from Lafayette at graduation.<p>

We sipped coffee and nibbled at the muffins I'd made for breakfast for twenty minutes until Eric turned up at the door. He had outdone himself. Or Pam had outdone herself. He wore a three piece suit in navy blue with a grey shirt and a navy and grey striped tie, with a pocket square in silk that matched his tie, rather than his usual cotton.

"Wow," I blink, taking him in. Say what you like about the beards, but ZZ Top had really known what they were talking about. _This girl_ was no exception. I was crazy for this sharp dressed man.

"Do you like it? It has a waistcoat," he says proudly, indicating the vest.

"It's deliberate, right? This is a conscious decision on your part looking like this?" I grin.

"I always try to look my best at these things, yes."

"Mission accomplished," I say.

"You look good too. Very naughty secretary," he leers.

"Uh huh," I reply, disbelievingly. "Well, I guess we better go before I offer to _take_ _dictation_, or something. I doubt there's any time in Pam's itinerary for that."

Amelia comes up behind me and I felt like a jerk for a moment because I really had forgotten she was here for a second, completely distracted by Eric as I was.

"Good morning," she says brightly.

I make their introductions quickly and grab my purse from where it hung on the coat rack as they shake hands and exchange pleased-to-meet-you's. I lock up then follow them out to the black limousine, which I know has been hired both for its spaciousness and for the sake of appearances. Pam is busy in the back with her Blackberry and I wait for her to look up once we were settled in and driving before introducing her to Amelia.

"Pam, this is Amelia Broadway, Amelia, this is Pamela Ravenscroft," I say. Normally I would have offered more. This is my best friend Amelia, she's in real estate. This is Eric's assistant Pam, she's just moving back to New Orleans. They already knew that information about each other though, along with plenty of other stuff, just from talking to me.

"Cute shoes," Pam offers after she'd given Amelia the once over and leaned across the seat to shake her hand.

"Thanks. I like your suit," Amelia replies.

Pam is also dressed to the nines in the promised cream-coloured suit accented with black piping. It is understated but very sleek and fashionable. I listen briefly as they start to exchange the designers of their respective outfits and accessories, then sneak my hand under Eric's where it rested on his leg. He'd been staring out the window but looks down at me for a moment and gives my hand a squeeze in return.

"Nervous?" I ask him.

"Not really. I've done everything I can."

"But you are still pensive," I observe.

"Well, this is my last day, I suppose. I'm just letting that settle in."

"Think they will get you a cake?" I ask, thinking of all the 'last days' of anyone I've ever worked with. There's always cake, and usually a group card. Sometimes there's a gift that everyone chips in for.

He chuckles. "I don't know. Pam, did you get me a cake?" he asks.

Pam looks up from Amelia, stopping midstream in their conversation to acknowledge Eric. "Was I supposed to?"

"No," he smirks, waving her off as he enjoys his private joke. Pam merely raises her eyebrows then goes back to small talk with Amelia. It'll be Pam's last day too, then. I guess he wasn't expecting much of a fuss from the people at Area Five for his send off. That kinda stinks.

We pull up in front of the hotel where the meeting is to take place. It's not Eric's hotel, but a different one, with a large function room to accommodate this sort of event. Eric exits the car followed by Pam, and then Amelia and I. This is not a kissing and hand-holding sort of atmosphere, so we trail along behind them inside. The best I get is Eric's hand resting for a moment at the small of my back as he gestures Amelia and I toward Pam so that she can get us to our seats while he goes off to meet with the other executives.

She walks us in past the little registration area, grabbing up one of the little information packets for each of us. At the main doors to the ballroom, men are positioned like ushers at a theatre, greeting Pam and nodding to us as we pass. Evidently they are security guards, though they were dressed in suits and didn't seem to be particularly _looming_. I suppose that kind of thing is a requirement at events like this. Area Five is a pretty high-profile company on the national scale, so I guess there is always some danger of protestors or other interruptions. I wasn't aware of any particularly unsavoury business practices by them, not the ones that get people storming meetings and screaming politics anyway, but I guess it's better to be safe than sorry. That's not to say I object to protesting when it comes to things that ought to be protested. It's just not the case here, and I was glad for that. There would be more than enough fracas without any additional sources.

Entering the hotel ballroom you hardly recognized it for what it was. There are rows of chairs in three sections filling the space and at the front stands a long raised dais. There is a centre podium flanked on either side by long tables laid out with bottles of water and various placards showing names and titles. Behind this stage, a lit up projection of the company logo is splashed across a presentation screen that presumably would be used later. It is framed with tall blinders that also featured the Area Five logo, filling in the rest of the space behind the dais. It appears like any auditorium until you look a little beyond the obvious setup to see that the ceiling is quite ornate, with recessed sections housing very fancy lighting. There are lit sconces glowing dimly along the walls at frequent intervals, and the elaborate parquet flooring is polished to a glossy shine. Seeing it like this, it was hard to envision the space filled instead with dozens of decorated round tables set with flowers and dinner plates, with space left clear for dancing, as it might be at some gala or wedding reception. I figure that sort of event is probably closer to the room's general use.

Pam plunks us down in the far left section, towards the front. I can see the little sign labelled, "E. Northman, Senior Vice President," up on the stage and realize she's positioned us near to Eric, but still out of the way. We are far enough to the side here that it puts us in the periphery of outward focus from the dais. Pam really didn't miss a trick. No chance of shooting Eric little smiles or trying to catch his eye once he comes in. No chance of distraction for him. It's not like I'd have done that intentionally or anything, but Pam wasn't leaving the opportunity regardless.

The room is only about one third full when we enter, and so we sit and watch everyone else arrive. There are a few people from Area Five that I recognize, but not very many. I don't think any of them notice me, or recognize me if they do. These are more of the higher-ups, who'd I'd met only briefly when I'd still been with Bill. I am a far cry from my Arm Candy persona in this mousy suit. Most of them are finding seats front and centre, well away from us. The first person who does notice me is Peter Threadgill. I'd been watching him like a hawk from the second he entered the room. He gives me a polite nod before turning away. David and Tara are also with him, as are Jade, Jennifer Cater, and a number of other people I don't know, but who are clearly part of his contingent. I scanned them all looking for signs of Bill or Lorena, but they were nowhere in evidence. Good for now, I guess, but from what Bill had said last night, I did expect _her_ at least to be in attendance.

Amelia gives me a nudge when she notices Tara and I elbow her when I see her move to lift her hand to wave. Tara must have seen us too, or Amelia wouldn't have done that, but when I look up, Tara is facing the opposite direction again. Theatre indeed. The acting had already begun. After my nonverbal rebuff, my friend busies herself going through her little packet, murmuring out the details of the enclosed schedule, and explaining the voting cards to me. Obviously it would be impractical for people to get up and cast ballots on everything, so when there would be calls to vote, everyone was to hold up this card to indicate an affirmative vote. They would be counted and compared to the number of cards which had been handed out, and if there was a majority showing it would be considered a resolution passed. It seems like an alright way to do things.

When the room is more or less full, a woman I do not know comes to the centre podium and invites the ladies and gentlemen to please take their seats as the meeting is about to start. It becomes impossible for me to keep track of where anyone is after that. It was all just a sea of heads. The lights dim slightly everywhere except on the stage and very shortly after, Eric and the other executives and Board Members file in from a door in the front of the room, a different one than the one from which we had entered. He looks directly at me and I am pretty sure he gives me a quick wink before smoothing his face to indifference and focusing on the job at hand, which most immediately consists of nodding formally in his turn as his name is announced and then sitting down. It seems like there ought to be polite applause or something as everyone comes out, but there is nothing like that. An odd quiet settles over the room.

Sophie Ann Leclerq is introduced a second time, and she stands and crosses to the centre podium, replacing the initial speaker who retreats off the dais. She begins by discussing the format of the meeting itself. She goes over the voting procedure, which to my anxious self is an unnecessary redundancy and waste of time considering everyone in the room already has that information in hand. She then outlines some additional rules of order, including who was allowed to speak and when. As she gets to this bit, some people come out and position microphones on stands at the base of each aisle. She says that only those with pink or yellow voting cards would be permitted to speak. Amelia and I have blue ones, which is fine as we will not have anything to say anyway. There would be a chance for questions on each resolution. Then she proceeds to talk for twenty minutes straight about what a great year it has been for Area Five, throwing out lots of numbers that were plainly designed to impress. They are paired with terms like 'back end revenue' and 'core earnings structure.' She seems very pleased about it all. Once she is finally through, she defers to Mr. Andre, the Chief Financial Officer. He also talks numbers. Excessively. He has a lot less personality to add to the mix than Ms. Leclerq.

The first few resolutions involve reaffirming the board members and while it is interesting to see this process, it is not particularly exciting. There is no contention, it is just, "Should this person stay put?" There are a few questions about past actions and decisions in here which the members respond to but ultimately everyone is reaffirmed without incident.

There are a couple of other more general resolutions that involve the specifics of company management that I'll freely admit I don't follow very well, despite reading over the explanatory notes in the agenda. I guess they are doing something with consolidating the number of shares in existence. Amelia's two shares that she had purchased for twenty dollars each, would become one share worth forty dollars, I think. The point of this was to decrease the raw number of shares in existence. Since I understood that Tara's job throughout the planned takeover had basically been to pursue Area Five's shareholders and get them to sell to Arkansas, having less shares all around seemed like a good move for the future in the sense that it left less to keep track of. It wasn't going to be implemented until right before the end of the year anyway. Amelia held up her voting card when it was time. We'd decided that she would vote yes for everything, and I wouldn't vote for anything, effectively cancelling each other out.

The next item on the agenda is the merger. The freshly re-appointed Board was asking for permission to merge the company with Arkansas Confederate and the whole thing is detailed to the bottom line for shareholders, making good use of the big projection screen. Their stocks would become stocks of the new, merged company and given a higher valuation. A twenty dollar Area Five share would become a twenty-five dollar Area Five-Arkansas share. This pleases everyone of course, but there are still a number of questions to be posed and answered. Different members on the panel answer the questions depending on the sphere they pertain to. I try to be smiling and listening attentively whenever it is Eric's turn to speak, but truthfully I was waiting on tenterhooks. I figure if Peter is going to make his move, now is going to be the time. I am not disappointed.

I hadn't seen him stand up and approach the microphone as he was on the opposite side from me, but I recognize his voice immediately and then of course he promptly introduces himself, as Sophie Ann had prescribed in the rules earlier. "Good morning ladies and gentlemen of the Board, I am Peter Threadgill, Chairman and CEO of Arkansas Confederate Holdings."

My hand shoots out to find Amelia's and she squeezes mine right back just as tightly. Circulation in the extremities - who needs it?

"Though we have been impressed with the presentation thus far, I wish to announce at this time that Arkansas Confederate is formally withdrawing from the proposed merger with Area Five. As you are aware from our filings, in preparation for the merger we have acquired no insignificant amount of Area Five stock, as we are aware Area Five has done in its turn. As of the close of business yesterday," he says, taking the microphone in hand, and turning away from the dais and to the general audience, "Arkansas Confederate and its Board Members retain a combined total of forty-eight percent of Area Five stock. Effective as of ten a.m. this morning (Minutes ago, I realize, grabbing Amelia's watch to check it. That must have been what he was waiting for.), and until we amass a simple majority of fifty-one percent of Area Five shares, we issue a tender offer of _fifty_ dollars per share..." Gasps. Literal gasps, throughout the room, and then, pandemonium. Peter finishes his statement but even mic'd, his voice was drowned out and I can barely hear him over the raucous noise of a couple hundred voices all going at once.

I glance around us. Everyone is talking to their neighbours. From what I quickly gather, an offer of more than double the current stock value was obscenely high. People take their phones out and start making calls. This goes on for almost three minutes before I see Eric stand up and cross to Sophie Ann at the podium. He whispers something to her and then stands back. Actually, he could have been speaking at full volume for all I knew, it's not like anyone would have heard him either way. She starts calling for order and is ignored. Her assistant, the woman who had initially made the introductions, was suddenly scurrying back to the podium carrying with her a gavel and a little wooden block to bang it on, items which obviously were held ready in reserve but which had not been anticipated as necessary.

Sophie Ann takes them and begins banging the gavel repeatedly and mercilessly, calling, "Order, come to order!" It takes another couple of minutes of this but finally the volume in the room drops to a dull roar and she is able to be heard. "I call on the Board to vote in an immediate action to match the tender offer in an excess of fifteen percent! Members of the Board, what say you?"

"Madam Chairman, Area Five does not have the ready capital to match, let alone exceed my offer," Threadgill hollers, all decorum slipping away.

"Mister Threadgill, do not presume that you have caught us by surprise," she scolds, with bile in her voice. "Members of the Board, what say you?" she repeats.

Right down the line they spoke in turn, each leaning forward to speak into the smaller microphones positioned behind their name cards. Quiet comes over the room again.

"Aye."

"Nay."

"Aye."

"Nay."

"Nay."

"Nay."

"Nay."

"_Aye_."

"Nay."

"Nay."

"And there you have it, _Madam_," Threadgill's voice comes again, triumphant. My heart sinks. Obviously his plan to gain support among Area Five's Board had worked to great effect. Had they not been able to determine with whom he'd been meeting? Why would they not have put forward different candidates for the Board? Ones who could be trusted! My eyes shoot to Eric, still standing impassively behind Sophie Ann on the dais. She is glancing up and down the table at her Board Members, some of who seem to be avoiding her eyes. I don't think it is possible that all of the naysayers could be in Peter's sway. If that were the case, he could have gone about this all in a very different way, simply pushing the Board to sell him Area Five outright. However some are clearly in his pocket. Certainly enough to ensure this action is defeated.

Peter Threadgill takes a moment to enjoy the stunned silence that fills the room before the clamour starts up again in his wake. "Madam Chairman, I suggest you conclude this general meeting and allow your shareholders to attend to their very pressing business," he gloats.

"Pardon me, I am a shareholder of Area Five and wish to speak on this matter before this general meeting is adjourned," comes a voice.

It is David, speaking from the microphone nearer to us. I recognize him from the side, but his voice is deep and calm, and utterly lacking in the smarmy disdainful tone that I'd characterized him with on previous occasions. I can still see Peter standing, and that he is now turned toward David, but he is too far from me to make out the expression on his face.

I watch as Eric retreats to his seat. He glances back at Sophie Ann who gives him a nod. "David Threadgill, you have the floor."

"Thank you Mister Northman, members of the Board," David acknowledges.

"I have made a slight misrepresentation a moment ago. I should have said I _was_ a shareholder. As my father Peter has noted, Arkansas Confederate and its Board Members have collectively amassed forty-eight percent of all Area Five stock. This total erroneously accounts for five percent of total shares previously part of my personal portfolio, but which were sold back to Area Five at thirty percent above current market value yesterday." Wow. Profitable day for David.

The murmur starts up again, punctuated by more surprised eruptions, but David presses through it, raising his own volume.

"Further, at this time I yield my own holdings of Arkansas Confederate stock, amounting to eight percent of the total company shares to Area Five."

"David!" That must be Peter shouting. It is ignored.

And now it is Sophie Ann who is triumphant. "Mr. Andre, as of this morning, what percent of Arkansas Confederate do we hold?"

"Forty-five percent," the man answers.

"And with Mr. Threadgill's generous gift?"

"Fifty-three percent, Madam Chairman." Ah. This must be why he makes the big bucks.

"Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, I formally withdraw resolution six, the merger of Area Five and Arkansas Confederate, from this meeting's agenda. I declare an immediate recess of this meeting. We will reconvene in twenty minutes' time to conclude the day's business."

She bangs her gavel again. Just for show, I think. Suddenly the noise spikes again and all around us people are standing or heading for the exits, or just getting back on their telephones. David is quickly spirited away through the side door by the security team. He is followed by everyone who had been on the dais and the doors were body-blocked by the suited men who have now managed to find and project their inner menace. We have front row seats to Peter Threadgill demanding, and being refused, admittance.

"Well _damn_," Amelia says, dumbfounded. I hear someone nearby chuckle.

"Yeah," I nod, still reeling, myself.

All around us people are talking, and the general gist of the commentary seems to be that this has been the most exciting general meeting that anyone has ever attended. Or heard of.

"So Eric convinced this guy to sell out his own father?" Amelia asks.

"Looks like it," I say.

"_Damn_," she says again.

"He's pretty persuasive really," I acknowledge.

"You think?" she asks.

"I think it helps when people are ready to be persuaded," I say distractedly, thinking of my own dealings with Eric as much as David Threadgill's.

Tara appears at my side, and Amelia turns to her immediately to say hello.

"Hey Sookie," Tara says tentatively.

"Hey Tara," I say. "Guess you've been pretty busy lately, huh?" I smirk.

"Oh yes, it's been so crazy lately. I'm looking forward to the calm, now," Tara says.

"I'll bet," I agree.

"So are you going to work for Area Five now?" Amelia asks.

"Well, technically as of five minutes ago I already do, since they now own Arkansas... but yes, I've been promised an AVP position in their financial department once the transition is underway."

"Tara! Congratulations!" Amelia says. It's a huge promotion for her. I know that. I want to be happy for her, except for the fact that I also know she got it through no kind of merit. She's assured this new position as a result of the mere coincidence of having been dating David, when under any circumstances she would have been dismissed for the reasons she even came to anyone's attention. It's not that I wanted bad things to happen to her, but I was still put off by the reality of the situation. There's no practical justice in this sphere, it's just favours and manoeuvring and trying to be the last man or woman left standing. I do my best to put all of it aside for later consideration and force a smile onto my face.

"Congratulations, Tara," I say, trying, perhaps in vain, to sound sincere.

"Thanks," she says, looking from Amelia to me. "Sookie, can we have lunch next week?"

"Sure, Tara. Can I email you tonight? I have Peterson meetings all week so I need to go through my schedule."

"Sure, of course. And you guys need to come over and see our new place, soon," she continues, just as if all is right with the world. From her point of view, it is.

We both nod our agreement that we'd like that, and we chat for a few more minutes. Not long later, the lights in the room flip on and off several times, as a warning that the recess is nearly up. Tara says her goodbyes to us before bustling back to her seat. The woman who opened the meeting once again requests that everyone take their seats, and as I glance around I realize that somehow the crowd in here has grown larger. The area against the back wall has become a standing-room-only section.

I realize as the Board members and other members of the panel file back in that at some point while we were talking an additional seat had been placed for David Threadgill, who is now among their number. Sophie Ann resumes her place at the centre podium declaring the meeting officially back in progress. Such formalities are probably necessary for the recording of minutes and possibly a transcript of the proceedings.

"You may notice the addition to our number here on the dais," she smiles winningly. "After the revelations of the last hour, we are pleased to announce that David Threadgill will be joining our executive team as our new Senior Vice President of Corporate Development." This time, there was brief applause.

"We at Area Five are sad to be losing Eric Northman, who resigns this position effective at the end of today in pursuit of other business interests. Eric, allow me this opportunity to thank you for your service. You leave big shoes to fill, and of course, not just literally," she gives a faux little titter here. Eric's tall, y'all. He's got large feet. "But we are excited to see how David will fill them. In addition, at this time I would like to call for the appointment of David Threadgill as a Junior Member of the Area Five Board of Directors."

That was all. Eric had basically saved her company from being snatched out underneath her and handed her Arkansas in the process, and she gave him a thank you and a bad joke. Eric had nodded graciously through her thanks and sat stoicly as the vote was called. Eric had not been on the Board, not even as a Junior Member. He had told me once that he enjoyed being more hands on, but I couldn't help feeling a little bit slighted on his behalf. I give a huff that was apparently louder than I intended. I realize this only when Amelia jabs me in the side with her elbow.

The vote to confirm David proceeds almost unanimously in favour, by the look of the number of cards in the air. It is only at this point that Peter Threadgill, along with Jennifer Cater and some, but not all, of the party with whom he had arrived, get up and storm out of the meeting room.

There are only a handful of additional items to discuss and I listen to Sophie Ann assure her shareholders that they would soon be receiving information about Area Five's newest acquisition and that the company would be issuing statements forthwith regarding stock information for both companies. Finally she thanks everyone in attendance and invites those of us who held blue or yellow cards to join the reception that was taking place down the hall, where a catered lunch and coffee would be served. With that, she declares the meeting over.

Amelia and I are unsure of where we are meant to go now, so we wait in our place for Pam to come and find us. When she appears she is wearing a broad, satisfied grin.

"Nice work, Pam," I congratulate.

"Thank you, Sookie."

"Business Barbie," I tease.

She brightens her grin. "Eric is talking to the press. He will join us in the reception room, or I can take you to him if you wish. You," she says, turning to Amelia, "Will come with me."

"I'd like to see him," I say. "I figure he could use a hug. All that work you guys did, and all he gets is some dismissive 'thanks buddy,'" I frown.

Pam laughs. "Sookie, you know that's not all he is getting."

"_Do_ I know that?"

"Eric will be well compensated in his departure as a result of this little coup, do not worry about that."

"He gets a golden parachute?" Amelia blurts out.

Pam lifts an eyebrow briefly at Amelia before inclining her head. "I suppose so. He sold his stock in the company over-value in the push to make numbers at the last minute. And of course there is a significant severance package. Fear not, Eric's contributions to the day's events will be well rewarded. Even I am getting a very nice package, in addition to the bonuses that Eric is giving for my signing on with him at Northman Group."

"But you would stay with him anyway, right?" I ask.

Pam chuckles again. "Sookie, you are so amusing at times," she says.

This only makes me frown.

"One of the reasons I like working for Eric is _because_ he rewards hard work and loyalty. Would I have stayed with him if Area Five had simply tried to screw us? Yes, probably that too, because I believe he would have righted that wrong. It's a silly question you asked. I stay with him because he is Eric, and things happen because he ensures that they do," she finishes with a shrug. "Now come along, my little sorority girls, I believe there is some champagne to be had somewhere close by."

She links arms with either of us and leads us through the throng at the back doors. I spot Eric easily, surrounded by a small cluster of reporters. I pull away from Pam and point in his direction to indicate that's where I'm heading and she and Amelia continue off in search of refreshment. I stand back a bit from the group. Now that I'm closer I see that Eric is standing beside David Threadgill. I catch his eye and smile and he holds up a hand to indicate he'll just be another minute. On the opposite side of the lobby a similar cluster surrounds Peter Threadgill and his entourage. He obviously had not left the premises, simply the meeting room, earlier. Out of sheer curiosity I move closer to try to hear what he could possibly be saying about the events that have just transpired.

"...And _of course_, there is great profit in such a broad reaching corporation, no one would deny the opportunity when chance presented itself. However events which might appear unfortunate actually open a new door. We have long been focused on the software side of things, that is where my true passion has always lain. My team of developers, you'll find, are loyal to a fault, and will remain with me in future endeavours. This grants us the unique opportunity to create a truly free environment where jobs and creativity can flourish here in the Gulf Region rivalling that of the West Coast..." he says.

I just roll my eyes at the astonishing ability of these men to switch into public relations mode. He had face to save. Peter had dealt from what he thought had been a stacked deck but still managed to lose. He wanted to make darn sure that anyone who would listen knew he wasn't broken. I scan his entourage and my eyes settle on Lorena, who is unmistakably staring daggers back at me. Just then I feel a hand against my back and look up to see Eric leaning down to give me a quick peck on the lips. I smile against his mouth as he pulls away.

"You did good, Northman," I tell him.

"Thank you. I am nearly done," he grins, then points my attention back to Peter.

"...Yes, of course, all the work that has been completed is exclusively the property of Area Five, but naturally they do not hold the patents on future ideas! No, my team of management and engineers will bring their own intellectual property with them in our new venture."

"Peter Threadgill?" a man asks.

"Yes sir, and your name?" Threadgill asks with a thousand watt smile.

"My name is Tom Lattesta representing the United States Department of Justice, and this," he says, handing over an envelope, "Is a subpoena pursuant to the ongoing case against Arkansas Confederate employees Lorena Ball and William Compton, who currently stand accused of violating the Interstate Transportation of Stolen Property Act as well as the Economic Espionage Act. Your testimony will be required, sir."

There is about five seconds of shocked silence in the little ring before the reporters explode into questions with renewed vigour.

"Mister Threadgill, what will this mean for your software team?"

"Did you intend to steal proprietary software from Area Five?"

"Do you wish to clarify your statements about your future endeavours?"

"Peter, do you expect to be personally prosecuted?"

"Mister Threadgill, what will this mean for your investors?"

"Do you still anticipate being able to hit release goals as early as next year?"

Eric links his arm around my waist and begins to pull me away from a now flustered Peter Threadgill who is emphasizing repeatedly that he has no additional comments to make. I spot Lorena again, her attention now completely preoccupied with her tablet. I'm a little surprised when Eric actually steers us towards her.

"I wouldn't bother, Ms. Ball," he says smoothly.

"What do you want, Northman? I've seen this trash on display before, showing it off is wasted on me," she spits, shooting an ugly look at me. Eric simply gives my hip a squeeze, his way of telling me not to be bothered by her words, I think.

"I merely wanted to tell you not to bother. I presume what you're attempting to do there is pull files from the Arkansas servers. Having a little bit of connection trouble, are you?"

She simply glares, so he must be right.

"You'll find your login has been disabled. Jade Chou was kind enough to inform the Arkansas data security team immediately following David's transfer of assets to Area Five. You taught us a lesson once, about how you respond when you are cornered. We weren't going to let it happen a second time."

"What the fuck do you even care?" she hisses, outraged. "You've quit!"

"Officially I am still a Senior Vice President of Area Five, and its new acquisition, Arkansas Confederate until the end of business today."

In her rage at the device's failure to function as she wished, Lorena hurls her tablet at the ground. It must have been very unsatisfying, the way it didn't shatter or break apart or anything. It just clattered down and bounced with a tiny thud and the screen flickered off. It is Eric's turn to smile.

"Oh, and Ms. Ball?"

"What."

"You're fired."

Then very quickly Eric is leading me away from her in his tight grasp, pausing only briefly to signal to two security guards who swiftly move in the direction from which we had just come. I don't know what he is expecting her to do. Maybe he's just ensuring she doesn't have a chance to do anything.

"You're really on a roll," I tell him.

"Thanks, I think. Can I take that to mean that you're not completely put off by cutthroat nature of the day?"

"I think I felt for Peter a little bit," I admit.

"He'll bounce back. They won't actually be able to prove he had anything to do with what Bill and Lorena took. He'll say they did that of their own volition, and that's pretty hard to refute based on hearsay. And he'll make a ton of money, as I said he would. The stock prices are spiking as we speak."

"Anyone left on your hit list?"

"No, I think I'm done. Now I just need to be charming for an hour or so."

Eric entered the reception hall to a round of applause, and I let him go ahead and mingle and make my way over to Pam and Amelia.

"Your friend is adorable, Sookie," Pam comments with a wicked little grin.

"Oh dear. Are you two ladies having fun?" I ask.

"Certainly," Pam answers. "Amelia was just telling me about some of your misadventures at school."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," I hedge.

"Nothing too damning," Amelia says with a smirk.

They seem to be hitting it off very well. I think that's nice. I'm not sure it'll be a happily ever after, but maybe they'll have fun for now. Or not. I feel compelled to leave them be, but aside from them, I don't actually have anyone to talk to here. My other choice was being Eric's arm candy, and I just wasn't up for that. I told Amelia and Pam I'd be back in a little while in case Eric came looking for me, and I head outside and catch a cab back over to the Garden District. I have the driver wait while I complete my errand.

When I return, I'm pleased to see that most of the hullabaloo has dissipated from the front lobby. Peter and Lorena and their set are nowhere in sight, and everyone else has either left or gone back for coffee or the catered lunch. I'm walking back to find everyone again when I see Eric come bolting out of the hall.

"There you are," he says, sounding relieved.

"Here I am," I say.

"Where were you? I looked up and you were nowhere to be seen and Pam said you just went off."

"I had an errand to run, and Pam and Amelia seem to be getting on famously."

"I noticed that," he agrees.

"Pretty interesting." I observe.

"Yes. What was your errand?"

I fish into the little brown bag I'm carrying and pull out a plastic container housing a painstakingly decorated cupcake.

"It's your last day," I explain. "There should be cake. I'm sorry I didn't think to get you a card."

He studies the cupcake carefully turning the clear flimsy box around.

"Thank you. Am I to eat this now?"

"If you'd like."

"Perhaps I should give it to Pam, no one has gotten her a cake either."

I hold up the bag and give it a little shake indicating its contents, a second cupcake for Pam. We walk in and find Amelia and Pam still chatting exclusively with each other. They seem to be on their second or possibly third flutes of champagne at this point. It's the middle of the afternoon. I know Pam, at least, has earned this. Amelia, well, I guess she deserves a good time, too. I give Pam her cake and unlike Eric, she opens it immediately and devours it in about three unladylike bites.

"Hungry, Pam?" Eric asks.

"Not anymore, no," she says. "Thank you Sookie."

"I'm about ready for an lunch," Eric says. "Pam, what time is your flight?"

"Ten."

Amelia and I speak nearly simultaneously, me to Eric, and she to Pam.

"Aww, where are you going?"

"You're making her go back to Seattle this weekend?"

"I'm going to Anguilla," Pam clarifies.

"That'll be nice, just to relax after all this?" I ask, waving a hand toward the room at large.

"Yes and no. It is in part a working vacation," Pam says.

"I told you I wanted to start doing comparisons between our hotels and others in their vicinity. So we have one in Anguilla and Pam will stay four nights there, and four nights with a competitor," Eric explains.

"Sounds like a tough job you've got," Amelia smirks, glancing at Pam.

"My work is very important," Pam retorts.

"Are you starting next week?" I ask Eric.

"Yes, since I won't be in the office the first or last weeks in July. Speaking of, I need to go up to Rhode Island that last week, will you come? It's right in between your two sessions."

"What's in Rhode Island?" I ask.

"One of our properties. I've never been there."

"Is it cold up there?" I ask.

He chuckles, "Not this time of year."

Sophie Ann wanders over to our little group then, coming up between Eric and Pam and laying a hand on each of their arms. She commends the 'dream team,' and says once again that she was sorry to lose them. Area Five would be keeping the contract with Eric's hotel down here of course. She is so glad that she doesn't have to trudge upstairs to one of the 'shabby little cubby holes,' here at this hotel. Pam lets Eric handle the polite acknowledgements and proceeds to drain her champagne flute. Eric takes the opportunity then to tell her that we are heading out, and she says that she'll be in touch. Though Eric had resigned his SVP position, he would technically remain an employee of Area Five for the next few weeks. After Pam's hint, I knew that they had money matters to discuss.

As a group, we depart the reception and reach the front lobby where our limousine would have to be brought around. It's a bit of a wait before our car arrives. There had been many similar cars here today, I knew, and I wondered how they didn't mix them up. I'm envisioning a long row of identical long stretch limousines with hapless drivers all in similar looking black and white outfits going back and forth between them testing keys until they find the matching pairs. I hear Pam talking to Amelia again.

"Amelia," Pam says, "Sookie tells me you are in the process of renovating a new set of apartments."

"Oh, yes. Actually I sold another unit this week, so that makes half of them," she beams.

"Perhaps you will show me them. I have a bit of time to kill this afternoon."

"We can do that."

Eric was plainly listening in. "Let's have them drop Sookie and I off at the hotel then, and you two can keep the car and the driver for a few more hours."

"Works for me," Pam says breezily.

"Sure," Amelia smiles.

I figure the odds that they'll be having limo-sex this afternoon are about fifty/fifty. Eric and I arrive back at his hotel and I was grateful I had left a couple of outfits here so that I too have something to change into. Eric slips off his suit jacket and changes his trousers for a pair of jeans, and his glossy dress shoes for a pair of soft loafers, but he keeps the vest on. At my suggestion he packs a little bag with some weekend clothes. We grab a light lunch on our way back to my house with the intention of having a peaceful evening in.

I've got a little work to do for school in the next couple of days, but have resolved to finally getting around to replacing my television tomorrow. Eric has promised to continue his boyfriendy ways by helping me choose a good one and then helping me get it set up. I choose to interpret the latter part of that as _he is going to do it_. Between that, and then watching it, I figure he'll have enough to keep him occupied while I'm putting the finishing touches on my summer curriculum. The Batiments are leaving tomorrow night so we might even enjoy just laying out by the pool on Saturday. The goal was pretty simple really, a quiet weekend at home. He has a couple of trips to Seattle coming up as he still needs to close out his apartment there and tend to some things that Pam cannot do for him. I know as well that he'll be throwing himself into running the Northman Group with vigour starting Monday morning. Eric doesn't half-ass it when it comes to work, whatever the work. It's not like everything is just going to settle down into some leisurely life now, so either of us were kind of determined to just take a couple of days to just relax.

Back at my house, Eric stretches out on my bed with the same novel he's been trying to find time to finish for the last three weeks. It is quite a picture seeing him stretched out there in the afternoon sun coming down through the window, looking in every way content. That is how I leave him as I go across the hall to work. About an hour later I hear his snores start up. I go in towards the evening and tuck his book out of the way and go downstairs to make dinner. I don't really have the heart to wake him up, but I cook anyway in case he's hungry later.

Pam calls before I go to bed to let me know she's about to board her flight and we'll hear from her tomorrow. She's coyly evasive about whatever may or may not have happened with her and Amelia, so I'll have to get the story from the other source later. Eric ends up sleeping for fifteen hours straight. I'd left a note on the bathroom mirror directing him to the food downstairs in case he got up in the middle of the night, but when I wake on Friday morning I realize that the only indication he has moved at all while we slept is in the way he's half-draped across me. He's still in yesterday's clothes. When it had become clear that he was down for the count, I just left him that way. I couldn't really undress him myself without shuffling him around quite a bit and I know from experience that getting his sleep interrupted when he's super tired does not make for a pleasant Eric to deal with.

I shimmy sideways across the bed and out of his clutches and take a quick shower and dress. I start the coffee downstairs and replace my bathroom mirror note from last night with one pointing him toward the coffee and saying I'll be back soon. I don't have enough breakfast things in the house right now to do a respectable job for both of us, so I walk down to what I'd already internally dubbed "the good bakery" for some supplemental help. Returning home with my pastry boxes and fresh juice, I find my little note and his half-full coffee cup on the kitchen counter. I can hear the shower going upstairs and I leave him alone to scrub off any residual grumpiness and start the eggs and bacon. I'd also picked up several different newspapers for him, so I lay them out on the kitchen table. When I hear his heavy feet on the stairs I toss the dregs of his cold coffee into the sink and set a fresh cup down for him at his place.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I grin.

"Mm. 'Morning," he agrees with a stretch and a rub of his stomach. "Whatever you are making smells wonderful and I would like to eat some of it as soon as possible please."

"Sure," I say, smiling as he sinks into his chair and peers at the newspapers. I turn to hand him his plate, noticing how he really is too big for this table. Oh well. At least the bed works for him.

I take one of the newspapers and go straight to the business section. The articles were almost universally positive in favour of the events that had transpired.

Big News from the Big Easy

Wall Street rallied yesterday following the explosive annual general meeting of bicoastal tech superstar Area Five...

House of the Rising Son

David Threadgill joins the Board of Area Five following a surprise transfer from family-owned former rival Arkansas Confederate...

The South Rises Again

Shares of New Orleans Based Area Five and Arkansas Confederate stocks sold at records highs yesterday following the announcement of...

Bent Not Broken

Peter Threadgill, freshly former Chairman and CEO of Arkansas Confederate unveiled plans for his newest enterprise amidst...

There were several more, and it was all good news. The spectacle, coupled with the sheer amount of money that had been made and _would be made_ by shareholders could not fail to please the business reporters. My favourite article, and one I actually cut out and saved, was one from the local paper here in New Orleans. The headline for that one was "The Prodigal Son Returns," and it was about Eric's departure from Area Five and return to New Orleans to run the Northman Group. It mentioned Sten and Inge and was focused on the city-based company, with its national footprint, being handed into the competent care of a local boy 'dun good. We share the articles back and forth for a while until Eric's phone starts ringing. It doesn't stop for most of the day, but eventually he just silences it and lets everything go to voicemail. I chose a respectable, but not outrageously sized television, and I also bought a blu-ray dvd player to go with it. Eric bought half a dozen movies to keep him and us entertained since it didn't occur to me until after they were retrieving my chosen flatscreen from the back storage room that I hadn't gotten the cable service activated yet.

With the exception of two separate instances, we spend most of Saturday lounging poolside blissfully doing nothing. The two instances involved us running back to my house amidst playful shrieking so we could blissfully do each other. I can't really be held accountable for how Eric looks in his swim trunks and the consequences thereof. Evidently he had the same opinion about me in a bikini.

On Saturday evening I hear from Crystal and Jason that they've decided to accept the Loudermilk place, which I'll soon be able to refer to as their place. They've got a crew coming next week to tear down our parents' house. Crystal tells me that they're still going hold the reception there in the yard next to the lake. They're going to rent a couple of port-a-johns and keep it a big outdoor barbeque, just as planned. The work on the other place is going to begin as soon as Jason gets the check from the insurance. Jason and I have some matters to discuss about the property. They'd agreed to accept the house, but they didn't want to take the whole sixty acres of land. He talks about either giving me our parents' property in exchange, or simply getting the property lines redrawn. It's something we'll work out later.

While I'm on the phone with my brother, Eric finally gets around to checking _his_ missed calls. They include one from his father congratulating him in a very backhanded way for one-upping Peter Threadgill while simultaneously implying this was not much of an achievement. Inge's pride in Eric is far more sterling when we see her on Sunday afternoon. She had saved the same article as I, and Eric listens politely as she reads it in its entirety as though it were his first time hearing it.

With Pam's absence the following week, Eric finds he has little reason to return to his hotel, apart from stopping in once or twice to get more clothes. It's not until the following Sunday morning that we get around to discussing the idea of him staying indefinitely. It has crossed my mind repeatedly throughout the week, in part because I'd gotten a call from Lafayette to let me know that he and Rasul had decided to cohabitate (and would both be arriving in town to visit in a few weeks) and in part because I really could not help noticing how easy and natural the week had gone. He's never seemed in the way or out of place here. I haven't ever felt compelled to mind him or entertain him like I would a guest. I like to think he's also comfortable here. Pam's arriving back today and we're debating whether or not we should be there to meet her.

"I say we send your friend Amelia to meet her and just stay here," Eric suggests. "It is _comfortable_ here," he emphasizes bodily. We're still in bed. He throws his leg over both of mine and wraps himself around me, using my breasts as his pillow. I find myself patting his head in my agreement.

"I wonder if anything will come of that," I muse. "Amelia said they didn't get much beyond the very blatant flirting."

"It would certainly be convenient if they did," Eric agrees.

"Only if they stay together forever though so we won't have this awkward what happens if they break up situation," I speculate. They're not even dating (yet?), and I'm making contingency plans for when it doesn't work out. I cringe and laugh at the senselessness of my expressed concern.

I run my fingers up and down his neck letting my nails drag lightly across his skin and it makes him shiver and cling to me all the tighter.

"I'll see her tomorrow anyway. I really could stay here, just like this, forever."

"Careful or I'll take you at your word," I warn him with a smile in my voice.

He lifts himself up then, rising so he hovers over me resting with his palms on the bed on either side of me. It's a nice moment just looking at him before he bends his elbows, leaning down to kiss me. Additional nice moment.

"We could talk about that some more," he suggests.

"About you staying here?" I ask, mostly to make certainly double-sure that we're on the same page.

"Yeah," he agrees.

"Wouldn't you miss the maids?" I tease.

"We could get one?" he grins. "Just to come a couple of times a week if you want."

I feel my eyes squint a little bit as I stare up at him, trying to determine if he's serious. "There's not a ton of extra space though," I hedge. "I mean, I don't know how much stuff you have." This is just one of about two dozen thoughts going through my head at this moment. Highlights among the others include: Seriously? He wants to move in with me? Isn't it a bit soon? _Is_ it a bit soon? What would we do about rent and utilities? Does he really think we need a maid to come? Is he going to keep using up all the clean towels like he has been and leaving them on the floor?

"Are you being serious?" I ask.

"This has been nice, hasn't it?"

"It has," I nod.

"Pam's looking to buy a place soon, so she won't be staying any more, and as you yourself have pointed out, I cannot actually live in a hotel indefinitely."

"But don't you want your own space? I mean what if you get sick of me?" I ask, then quickly add, "Not like in a break-up kind of way, but surely I must get in your hair sometimes. This place isn't that big, if you ever wanted to be alone, or if I did." I hope I've explained that properly.

"It's not very big, no, but it has the upstairs and downstairs, and that helps. I mean practically speaking, if we continue as we have been, it might make more sense to just do it now. Rather than, say, I get a place, and then we find ourselves in two months realizing that one of us is never home. And, if anything were to happen where we did get sick of each other, I could always still go to the hotel, if that were necessary."

"Let's tone down the romanticism there, Mister Failsafe," I smirk.

"I'm not anticipating needing or wanting to utilize that option, I'm just acknowledging that it's there. I like this. This has been good. Even before with you staying at the hotel, it was good."

"Once I had things to keep me busy, while you were busy, yes," I agree.

"I like coming home to you," he says suddenly, without reserve.

"I like that too," I smile.

"Do you want to think about it a bit more?"

I take a deep breath. "I think let's do it."

"Yeah?"

I nod. "Yeah."

So simple as that, the decision is made. It's the right one, I think.


	24. Epilogue

A/N: Apparently I was kidding about the epilogue being any shorter than the other chapters. I know, I know, you're all furious. The fate of anyone not mentioned here is unimportant in Eric and Sookie's lives. Thank you all so much for reading. This has been a great experience writing.

* * *

><p>Christmastime, 2022, 10.5 Years On<p>

I did know then, that this was my _it_. It was in that moment I recognized that we were exactly the right fit for one another, and that we would continue to be.

Eric and I did end up going back to the hotel that day to meet Pam and hear all about Anguilla and the resorts down there. She had a ton of notes and things to go through with Eric, and got highly annoyed at both him and me for our obvious distraction with each other throughout dinner. We didn't stay a night apart for the next three weeks and the weekend after Jason's wedding we flew to Seattle to pack him up. It took shockingly little effort which had made me sad. It had been very much a bachelor pad; very sleek and clean and very modern, and very empty. Most of his things fit into my, our, then sparsely appointed house in New Orleans, but the remainder had been shipped to Gran's and stored upstairs. I'd insisted it was really stupid for him to pay for a storage unit when there was that unused extra space.

It was about four months later on a Sunday when we were back at our favourite restaurant, sitting beside our friend the taxidermal gazelle, when he handed over a sheaf of newspaper with his finger on it telling me, "We should go see this today." It was the picture of a house in the real estate section, which I'd long since stopped taking to peruse when we divvied up the paper.

I'd raised my eyebrows at him. "You're buying a house?" I'd said.

"Well, I like our house, but eventually we are going to want something bigger, yes?"

"I guess?"

"So unless you want to build, which I'm assuming you don't, since you tend to prefer older buildings, we should really be looking as of now. This way we won't miss anything that comes up that's really good."

"Uh, sure," I said. It had struck me as a little weird but then again, I'd never given a lot of thought to the process of buying a house before. "Any particular reason we're getting the jump on this now?"

"I'm assuming we'll want to be able to move in right away once we are married. We'll not only have to find the right house, but then get any work done so it's all ready for us."

"Oh really?" I'd asked brightly. He'd just said it so matter-of-factly. "When's that happening then?"

"End of next summer? Otherwise we'd have to wait for winter break, right?" It was right before Thanksgiving.

"Seriously, Eric?"

"What, you don't want to?"

"Are you actually asking me?" I was about eighty percent grinning like the village idiot and twenty percent just shocked by his audacity in that moment.

"Ah yes," he'd said. And then he took out a ring box, and pushed the little wicker footstool out from in front of my chair and knelt and asked, "Sookie Stackhouse, will you marry me?" And he'd been wearing that shit-eating grin again, and I could only nod my smiling assent. I'd been so focused on him that I didn't even look at the ring itself until after he had put it on my finger. I don't know if that's normal, I know a lot of women are really excited about the ring. He'd chosen a pale, sky blue diamond encircled by smaller white ones, with a thin diamond band. It's very, very pretty. Perfect, really. Pam had helped.

Pam had gone ahead and bought one of the apartments in Amelia's second building, where she still lives. As for she and Amelia themselves, they'd somehow managed to strike the perfect balance of being not actually _together_ as a couple, but still being consistent, well, lovers, for a good long while. As far as I know they no longer hang out alone, but they've managed to stay friendly. There's no awkward ex vibe between them. Amelia had eventually found Bob, and they seem to fit together perfectly well. He's very quiet most of the time, which compliments her propensity towards loudness very well. Pam is now dating a younger woman named Miriam who we have met a few times, and she is very nice. I think that Pam is quite serious about her, and I'm hoping that Miriam is actually as mature as she seems, and that the age thing doesn't become an issue down the line.

Lafayette had been offered a professorship at Tulane here in town, the prospect of which had thrilled him, not to mention Amelia and I, to no end. Unfortunately Rasul had been more or less unwilling to leave his job in Washington. It ended up being three months chock full of turmoil and frustration for both of them. The job offer had come right around the time Lafayette's grandmother had died and his mother had reached out to him. He was down here alone as Rasul couldn't join him. Then Lafayette's mother had shown her true colours yet again and they'd had their final falling out. Lafayette got back on a plane that very day after screaming at his mother, in response to her telling him that she blamed herself for his "turning out a faggot, because I loved you wrong," that she hadn't had a fucking clue what real love was, but he did, and it was waiting for him back west. He had proposed to Rasul that night. He'd been dead right on both accounts as far as I was concerned. Three years ago, they adopted their two daughters, half sisters, who were ages three and six at the time.

Pamela (by coincidence) and Mariposa are both absolutely gorgeous girls. They had the same mother but had two different fathers. Then as now. Their mother had been of Middle Eastern ancestry, and the fathers had both been black men, so there is a vague resemblance in the appearance of both girls to Laf and Rasul, as well as the cultural connections. The four of them make a beautiful family. Rasul's parents are as bad, if not worse, than Lafayette's. They still come to us in Bon Temps for Thanksgiving, every year. Jason was, at first, uneasy with Lafayette and Rasul as a couple. It was expected, since he had started out on shaky ground with Lafayette's stated gayness as a mere abstraction. Seeing it had been a different kettle of fish. Surprisingly, it was actually Crystal who bridged the gap.

"Oh thank God, you're not more perfect blonde people!" was verbatim, how she'd greeted them when they'd first met. In addition to being an instant ice breaker, that was an eye opener. I hadn't ever realized she'd thought of me, or Eric or Jason, in that way. Pam, I could understand. She'd come up with us that first year too. Amelia had been absent, having resolved to try having a holiday with her father. She'd been back with us for Christmas, in case you're wondering how it went.

After Crystal's declaration of brunette solidarity, she and Rasul had hit it off famously. Jason was more or less forced to be accepting after that. Happy wife, happy life. Crystal and Rasul talk _all_ the time. The bottom line is, Lafayette and Rasul are family, and they're not just considered so by me, but by my family. Pam is too, albeit a little more reluctantly. Jason had never had the same issues with Pam being a lesbian that he had with Lafayette and Rasul being gay, which in itself made me want to thump him. Pam's standoffishness stems from the fact that she feels like the last single girl at the party at this point. When she lets herself, she's very much the cool aunt. Pam and "baby" Pamela (who is in fact now nine) together are an absolute riot.

Jason and Crystal are still at the Loudermilk place, which never ever did get renamed. Much to the delight of Calvin and Sassafras, my nephew and niece, they did finally put in a pool last summer. Calvin is the spitting image of my brother while Sassa is dark and rail thin like her momma. She's got our blue eyes though. She's going to be a heartbreaker. Heck, they both are. Their house is amazing, and even now Jason's always got something that he's working on.

After their wedding, it became Jason's singular mission to get the place up and ready before Calvin was born. He'd pulled it off, with a whole two days to spare. Crystal's water had broken while she was working on getting some stuff packed up at Gran's the following Saturday morning while Jason was out enjoying some much missed fishing. It had been me that she'd called when she couldn't raise Jason right away. The following Monday was the only sick or personal day I took for that entire school year. Eric had come with me. I tried to argue that he didn't have to, but he wanted to. Besides, he'd asserted, he would get us there faster. That trip up had also been the first time that I was with him when he got pulled over for speeding. He'd managed to talk his way out of his biennial ticket by telling the officer that his sister was having a baby right this minute. He had taken my phone right out of my hand to show off the pictures Jason and Crystal had just sent of Crystal, ready to pop, standing in front of the house. It had worked as proof. Eric was, and remains, a smooth talker. And he had only been sort of lying, since we were engaged by then. 'My future sister-in-law by marriage' is a lot clumsier to say and sounds a lot less urgent than just 'my sister.'

We'd hurried for good reason as it turned out, because there'd been an irregularity with Calvin's heartbeat which they said indicated distress. Rather than wait it out, the doctors had pushed her to have a caesarean section. I've got an opinion on that now, but at the time we'd taken them at their word and worried and panicked and let them bully Crystal. My opinion is that they'd performed an unnecessary surgery, in case that wasn't clear. Calvin had come out perfect, regardless. Later when Sassa was due, Crystal had done a scheduled caesarean. I've got an opinion on _that_ as well, but I only arrived at it after Geir came. I'd had seventeen hours to earn the right to that opinion, but I'd only ever shared it with Eric and the nurse in the delivery room.

Geir is four. Gunnar is seventeen and a half months. We totally nailed it both times. Geir was born on June thirtieth and Gunnar on July ninth. I'd been able to finish out the school year both times, though by the skin of my teeth the first time around. In the very beginning, Eric used to hate back-to-school time, because it meant that I wasn't around as much after the summer. Once we decided to have kids, the autumn became unbridled let's-knock-Sookie-up sex-season, which is now his very favourite season, and mine too, if I'm telling it true. We have a bit less sex now overall. I haven't done a proper survey but I'm pretty sure I'm still getting it a lot more than some of my peers. Eric is still hot. He is possibly more attractive than he ever was. He is like Sean Connery or George Clooney in this way. He'll still be getting the girl at age eighty. Well, provided the girl is me. Otherwise, that is not going to fly. I am not actually worried about that. Eric doesn't have a wandering eye. We have had our issues, but infidelity has never been one of them.

He cut his hair after Geir was born. It's not super short, but it's short. That had taken some getting used to. The party line is that Geir had pulled and tugged and chewed on it, or more deprecatingly, that the arrival of his first son had indicated to him that it was time to grow up. The truth was that it was starting to thin out a little bit, and he didn't want to get anywhere near being balding ponytail guy. He wasn't, by a long shot, but he called it a preventative measure. I'm a little different now too. The days of size eight on a good day are gone. I'm a ten, or a twelve, now. Two children on, I don't think my boobs could fairly be called perky anymore. Eric is still their number one fan, though. We stay healthy and active, but neither one of us works out as much we used to. We're a slightly softer version of us. We're okay with it. He's still really strong, just not as cut and rippled.

I'd done the summer program for three years after I started at Peterson, but after that I handed off the reins to someone else. I'd truly enjoyed it for the time I did it, but Eric travels a lot in the summers and I wanted to be able to go with him. He makes a point of visiting all the hotels during the busy season, even if it's only for an overnight. He doesn't tell them when we are coming. The Northman Group has increased by two since Eric took it over, and yes, I'm referring to the hotels, not our little brood, though I suppose it's true in both cases. He did end up hiring that architect to build in Hawaii about a year after he purchased it. He'd said he honestly hadn't intended to, but he kept coming back to the design and he had really wanted to see it come to be.

He'd also gotten one in Budapest of all places. They're very big into the spa culture there, the thermal mineral baths and all of that. It's Pam's new favourite. Inge has been there too. Of course she is still around, and yes, she's sharp as ever. She definitely does not move like she did. Stairs are almost completely out at this point. She can still do the front ones, if she's on the railing and has someone to steady her other arm. She insists on keeping this up out of sheer stubbornness. We use the wheelchair for all outings anymore and lately she's been using it in the house and to get out on the patio. Greta is still with her. She's really more of a companion at this point than anything else. It's been an interesting transition. Greta is just at retirement age, but we've had the blunt discussion, and she intends to stay on with Inge, 'til the end, or at least so long as she is able. "Inge will outlive us all," is the lie we cheerfully refrain. The fact of the matter is that it's coming, and it's going to hit all of us very hard when it does. They have another girl coming in the mornings to help with the cleaning, but Greta still cooks. We've had a registered nurse coming thrice a week for the last few years. Inge had a nasty bout with the flu one winter and, well, the woman's nearly a hundred. There are lots of minor health problems and we want to be sure she's well looked after. Once we found a nurse that she liked, which had taken a few tries, we just kept her on.

When I became pregnant with Gunnar, and after speaking with Eric about it, she made some alterations to her estate that include her remaining part ownership of the Northman Group coming to me, after her death. It was the last hurrah for her plotting and planning. It took a while for Eric with Inge, but we got there in the end. It may have been her age finally starting to catch up to her that did it, or perhaps a few years of Eric walking in Sten's shoes that changed his perspective a bit. I think it's a bit of both but I give the most credit to Geir and Gunnar. Gunnar is the miniature version of Eric, and has just learned to identify his Fahma. Geir takes more after the Stackhouses. He greatly resembles both Jason and Calvin, though with hints of Eric. Gunnar is just the opposite, sharing features with Viktor and Eric with just the faintest traces of me. Both are tall for their respective ages. Having babies around the place seemed to take the rest of the guile out of Inge. I honestly cannot determine if she is merely too distracted by her great-grandbabies to exert her cunning anymore, or if the children have literally absorbed all of her mischief into themselves. I am leaning toward the latter. Geir is already becoming a master of the clever use of words. He no longer spills or breaks anything. These things just happen. He is merely an innocent and uninvolved observer in this harum-scarum universe.

He's also taken to complimenting me when I have to scold him, which I secretly (secret from Geir, anyway) find hilarious. He can only have picked that up from Eric, and it's highly amusing that even a four year old can lay him bare. Eric claims this is only possible because Geir is _his_ four year old. Eric is a really good dad. Not that I have a lot to compare him to, but as far as I can tell, he's great at it. For starters, when he is home, not travelling that is, he is always home by six o'clock. Always. When he has to be away and we can't go, there is a standing appointment for video chat at six. Geir is going to be starting kindergarten soon, but both boys already go to a play group in the mornings. We have a nanny in the afternoons.

Yes, we have a nanny. Yes it was a bit of an argument, and yes, I lost. I really like Carmen. It was the idea of her I was unsure about in the beginning. She gets the boys from play and does their lunches and minds them for three hours every day until I get home. I wanted to keep working. Teaching makes me feel good. Not that mothering doesn't. It totally does, don't mistake me. But I also enjoy my work. I feel that, in a small way at least, it is important work, and I wanted to continue it. So I have. And the compromise is that instead of sticking our children in what Eric termed, 'indifferent daycare' all day, they go this very pricy developmental play centre in the mornings, and then come home with Carmen in the afternoons.

We have a maid, too. She's been with us since we were renting the little house from Madge Batiment. Incidentally, Madge's daughter Eloise did finally marry and through no help of her mother's at that. She married the owner of the good bakery here in the Garden District. He is an _amazing_ pastry chef and even did a little demo on the food channel once. They have daughter Geir's age. She's in our same play group.

The maid thing had also been an argument that I had lost, on the grounds of it being Eric's contribution to the housekeeping. Initially, Stella had come in twice a week. Then when Eric bought the house that became three times a week and longer visits. Once I got big with Geir, we just hired her full time, so she's with us every weekday from nine until seven, though often enough I'll send her home early. Geir is getting old enough to help me with dinners and cleaning up afterwards, and he is responsible for keeping his toys and clothes off the floor. We might be able to afford servants, but I'm not raising my children to rely on them. I'd kind of thought it was a joke about Eric not being able to do his own laundry until he moved in. Yeah, not so much. I had taught him though. He or I do our underwear even though Stella does a lot of the rest. I just never really got comfortable with other people touching my intimates.

There are no servants at the Bon Temps house unless you count the very occasional babysitter, which I don't, or Terry, which I don't _really_. He's a local guy who knew our dad, once upon a time. He's a Vietnam Vet, and a little bit scarred from that. Jason hires him out from time to time for projects at the Loudermilk place and we have done the same where we could on some of the many renovations we've done at Gran's. He's something like our caretaker, I guess, since Jason and Crystal don't always have time to get over and check on the house. We ship all the Christmas presents ahead of time, otherwise we wouldn't have room in the car, so he's been over this week to make sure they got inside and will have done the airing out, since no one's been over there in a few weeks.

We are up there for the holidays (Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter) and for at least two weeks in the summers, and weekends as often as we can get away which unfortunately is not as much as any of us might like. Five hour car rides with two small children are hard. Lately Eric has been talking about getting his pilot's license and I'm pretty sure he isn't just kidding. I do not know if he actually intends to pursue that as a means of transportation, or if he's just looking for a new way to fuel his need for speed. I'm not sure how I feel about the former. It certainly would be convenient if we could fly from New Orleans into the little airfield about twenty minutes away from Gran's, but I'm not sure if that would be practical or cost effective. He flies a lot for work and it's possible he's hoping to be able to fly himself for those trips, too. I don't like the idea of that at all, since he's long been in the habit of using flight time to catch up on whatever sleep he's missed lately. I don't want him even attempting it if he's tired, and he's practically conditioned himself to be so when he gets on a plane. It's something we need to talk more about.

He still drives a flashy little Corvette, though it's been updated three times now. Geir loves riding in the 'dad car,' even though he's not supposed to. It has no back seat so his booster has to go in front which is technically a no-no. That's not my rule, that's a government advisement that has to do with Geir's safety in case the airbags deploy. This is one of my conflicts as a parent, when the rules and the advice do not always match up perfectly to our situation. I trust my husband implicitly behind the wheel, with his life and mine and with the lives of our children. Eric has not so much as backed into a curb in the entire time we've been together. He is an excellent driver. His insurance premiums are still ridiculously high, but that's because of the cars he drives, not his driving. So even though you're not supposed to, Geir is allowed to ride in the Corvette with him very occasionally. It is considered a big treat. Please don't report us to child services or anything.

The 'vette is far superior in my children's eyes to my 'mom car,' which is a rather boring four door sedan. It has very high safety ratings and Eric can tolerate driving it when he must. We have talked about getting a larger vehicle, and he's been looking at Range Rovers. It will become a necessity once the boys get a little bigger. I had the Rabbit for four years before the transmission spontaneously died and Eric had pushed me to get something new and by that he didn't mean a Kia. He had used the precious cargo argument and I had let him win that pretty easily.

The money thing has been an issue at various times. I didn't sign a prenuptial agreement when we married. I'd offered to. Actually, I'd simply assumed that I would and when I asked him about it he got well and truly angry with me and had gone off about how could I even be thinking about divorce and how I shouldn't have accepted his proposal if I was unsure. I'd been at a loss for what to say to that and had eventually dissolved into tears and confessed my whole slew of insecurities regarding his wealth for really the first time ever. The closest we'd ever come before had been the night when a hormonal Crystal had run her mouth but he'd been too annoyed with her at the time to let me get too far into my feelings on the subject. So I'd had my little breakdown, the result of which was me being able to explain my side of things to him. In response he'd explained that he had some similar feelings and that he didn't want to be judged or made to feel uncomfortable for coming from wealth any more than I did for not coming from it.

Viktor, on the other hand, had wanted me to sign a prenup and had gone so far as to have one drafted which he had approached me with, showing up at the Batiment house one day in the little window of time between me getting home from school and Eric getting home from the office. I had been so distraught over what to tell Eric that I forgot to even hide the papers so how to tell him became a moot point when he found them right there on the counter. I had to endure about sixty seconds of his fury before I screamed back that they were from his father. So that's why Viktor wasn't at our wedding, and why Eric didn't speak to him again for three years.

We basically agreed to just ignore the money thing most of the time. We had a joint checking account and joint savings accounts, and I had gritted my teeth until I could simply accept that the amounts that he added were just going to be hugely larger than the amounts I added. He didn't think about it and I shouldn't either. We deliberately kept the checking balance low, well, relatively. Compared to the savings and the IRAs that Eric had set up for us not to mention the investments, it was low. The point is, we're rich, but we try very hard to pretend that we're a lot less rich than we are, if that makes sense. Our extravagances are things for our family. Stella and Carmen. Our house in New Orleans. Our house in Bon Temps. My car. Our accompanying Eric on his trips so that we can be together.

I still catch myself being uneasy about making large purchases. At one point my laptop had died. I was going without for a week until Eric noticed the amount of attention I was paying to my phone, since I was using it as my substitute for all my email and internet stuff for school. I'd gotten a nice long lecture about necessities for that one, and he had dragged me out at ten o'clock at night to go to one of these tech stores and buy a replacement. He'd used the emergency credit card, the one with no limit, just to make a point about what he considered important. Necessities for our day to day lives and respective work fell into that category. There'd been similar issues with all manner of things. The fact that there is money to freely spend if we so need or choose is something I'll just never be accustomed to. I don't particularly want to, either, but I'm trying to strike the balance. Now, when it comes to things that fall into the realm of essentials (albeit by the standards of our privileged life), I try my best not to hesitate. When it comes to the boys, I don't.

By contrast, some of his spending has also left me appalled. About a year after we were married he updated his Corvette. He just came home one day with the new one, which he had bought without telling me. He had only mentioned it once, and I hadn't really picked up on the fact that he was actually serious about getting a new car, since the blue one he'd had at the time was perfectly fine. So that had been an argument, and one that I had won, sort of. He'd acknowledged the fact that if I had to treat _the_ money as _our_ money, then he was beholden to same standard, and as such decisions on very expensive non-necessities need to be discussed. He'd offered to get rid of it, but that would have been a stupid solution, because of course he wouldn't get back the price he had paid for it, so he kept it.

Eric's old cars have all been donated to charity. Despite his general interest in automotive things, Eric does not watch a lot of motor sports. When he does, he prefers FIA (which is what his beloved Prince of Thurn and Taxis used to race in) to Nascar. Jason has tried over the years to get him into it but it's never really taken but for one exception. For Jason's birthday one year, Eric and he had gone to meet and spend a day at the track with Jeff Gordon, who's apparently a pretty famous driver. (That had definitely been an extravagance, but he'd gotten my okay before he'd done it. It still amazes me sometimes how well he and Jason get along.) Anyway, that driver and Eric had totally bonded over their mutual Corvette love. He did a charity raffle every time he replaced his, and so Eric has donated his cars to the same cause, three so far. We also make annual donations to his foundation now, which serves children suffering from cancer. They're not actually friends or anything, more of acquaintances. I've met him and his wife at a couple of charity events since then, and they seem like good people. Jason still has the picture of the three of them from that day hanging up in his den. It's kind of funny because the driver is really short, only an inch taller than me. Standing between Eric and Jason he looked positively dwarfed. I'd giggled the first time I saw it and then either of them had looked at me and basically said, "Uh, and what do you think you look like standing between us?"

Jason had taken some of the old pictures from Gran's house over to their place when they moved in. They supplemented what he had lost in the fire. Their den was full of pictures of our family. One of my favourite sets was in a four square frame. It contained one of Crystal and Jason's wedding pictures, which had been shot under the verdant oak arbour in what was now their driveway. There'd been one taken in the same spot the day that Jason had "finished" the house and Crystal was huge with Calvin, and one taken a couple of years later when Calvin was a toddler and Crystal was huge with Sassafras. Then the last was the four of them. There were a lot of other good ones. Sassafras and Pamela holding hands and noses and caught mid-jump last summer when the pool had first been opened. Eric with Sassa in his lap and baby Geir in the crook of his arm, all three of them passed out in Jason's comfy chair. Calvin holding Gunnar for the first time. The picture of Jason in Eric's lap trying to recreate the exact same pose, right next to it.

Eric is still pretty bad about his casual spending when it comes to his gadgets. He still comes home with a new phone practically every other month, let alone some of the tablets, cameras, and other devices. He loves cool little toys and his study is full of things that he doesn't really utilize despite the fact that every year he gets given a box to go in there and load it up for donations. And the problem now is that he's shopping for three. Or seven, if you count the cousins, which is a whole _other_ issue. It was _just great_ when Crystal had been telling Calvin no new video game system for two months straight, all the while saving to be able to give it to him for Christmas - and then have Uncle Eric show up with the thing one weekend out of the blue. He honestly had not seen the harm in the situation. Calvin had wanted it, Crystal had not been fundamentally opposed to him having it, so Eric provided it. He had read an article about it and wanted to play with it anyway. And of course Jason was no help. He just plonked down and played with them. The fact that Calvin now had evidence that Eric would give him things when his mother had said no had completely passed him by. Not to mention how Crystal felt being reminded that she couldn't do this for him even if she would have been inclined.

That had been a fight. Not between Crystal and Eric. This only happened a couple of months ago, and by now she knows him well enough to see he hadn't meant to do harm. No, the fight was between Eric and I, because Eric spoils the children. They're getting old enough now to actually notice. I know that he does this in part because his parents were assholes (sorry) and instead of loving him they pushed money and things at him, and in part because he _does_ love them and wants them to have all the things that they want. He does this with me as well. He always has. I still get lots of flowers, bath things, and even jewellery. It's always accompanied by sentiments I know he means, "I love you, I miss you," and every once in a while, "I'm sorry." It's almost like the gifts are meant to back up the statements though, instead of just accompanying them. I miss you, and these lilies are proof!

Lest I come off sounding ungrateful, I need to clarify that I know that having a husband who gives too much is a really petty concern in the scheme of things. I am lucky, we are lucky, that we're in a position where things like this even crop up as "problems." There's a lot I could just let go. But I don't. Because I am stubborn, and so is he. I also need to clarify that in spite of my complaining, things with Eric and I are really good. He remains as sweet as ever, in his own, "I thought the fact that I'm madly in love with you was very obvious," kind of way. Thinking of him makes me smile. I feel like that's the benchmark, simple as that.

Christmas this year is going to be difficult. I've got the kids packed up, and Amelia will be here any minute. She and Bob are going to take them up to Jason and Crystal, because Eric and I are going to France tonight. I am hoping we will be able to be back in time to meet them for Christmas morning, but if we don't, we will be there on video, and then we will celebrate with them back down here in January when we do Little Christmas with Inge. That's how we do it. We tried Fahma in Bon Temps one year and it just didn't work for anyone. We smiled through it, but we're a little too down-home for her, and she's a little too uptown for us. So we leave her to be entertained at home by her nieces and nephews and all their children, and we get together to celebrate with her after we get home from Bon Temps.

Eric's mother is dying. Alone. At Christmas. So we're going. Eric flat out refused to ruin the holiday for our children, whom she has never met, by dragging them out of the country to fidget in a hospital waiting room. They're going to stay with their aunt and uncle, cousins, and "Auntie A and Mister Bob." Eric's mother has never been a part of our lives. We did not know that she was sick. Eric and I have seen her exactly twice in the last ten years; once just after we were married, and once when I was pregnant with Geir. On neither occasion did she express any particular interest in being a part of our lives.

Viktor, in his screwed up fashion, has been coming around by inches. After the long estrangement, he came to see us at the hospital when Geir was born. He demanded Geir's social security number so that he could set up a trust for him. He has done the same for Gunnar. He adds funds to these on their birthdays and holidays and sends cards informing them of this. Geir prefers even clothes to these gifts. Clothes rank below books, which rank below toys, on the scale of preferable presents. Viktor is known to Geir simply as "Grandfather," but he has at least seen him enough that Viktor is known by anything at all. Gunnar is still stumbling over a word that long, but he gets close to it when we show him the one picture we have of Viktor in the house. It's one that Pam took of Eric and him standing side by side at the little window that looks in on all the babies in the nursery at the hospital. Eric is pointing to Geir while Viktor stands all stiff and impassive, but there's awe in his eyes, which is why I kept the picture. He is no longer married to Ana. Anyway, the point is, even his limited involvement with us has been more than Claire's.

She is dying of lung cancer, apparently. We had not known until two days ago that she was sick. She had not called us. It had been a nurse at the hospital who did. Michelle's English wasn't great so we'd spoken in French, and she explained that she had been looking over Claire for two weeks now. When prompted, Claire had apparently confessed that she had not been a part of her son's life for many years, and so felt it would be inappropriate to call him now. Michelle had decided that the best she could do from the standpoint of providing quality end of life care, was to contact Eric. He'd still been at work when the European calling code came up on the house phone, and I'd just gone ahead and answered it, because why would someone from Europe be calling us in the middle of the afternoon? Note to self: It's probably not good news.

Eric had told me the story of the time that his mother and father had left him to lie alone in the hospital at Christmas years ago, and while a teeny tiny part of me worried that he'd see this as some sort of poetic justice, rationally I know that the man I love is not so cruel. There's a lot of anger there. It's not just from Eric, but from me as well. How she could ever throw this man away, be indifferent to him, was beyond me. It's a little different with Viktor. He's always wanted Eric, at least in the sense that he's always wanted Eric to be what he wants Eric to be. That makes for tension and resentment, and staying away out of frustration. With Claire it's just cold and heartless. She sent him away as a child, left him alone when he needed her, and never concerned herself with returning to see if all was well. The only redeeming thing I can say to her credit is that at least she knew she had no right to call him to her side in this hour.

We're not going for her. We're going for Eric. If the call had come five or six years ago, maybe we wouldn't be going at all. But Eric's a father now, and he feels differently about a lot of things concerning family. I like to think I've helped him with that too, not just by giving him children, but by showing him love. Maybe I'm taking too much credit there. I don't know, my head is all over the place today.

Three things happen almost simultaneously. The doorbell rings, my phone chirps, and Geir comes in the room. I scoop him up with a groan and fish my phone out of my pocket with my other hand.

"Stella? That's going to be Amelia, could you please let her in?" I call out, stepping into the hall with Geir on my hip. He's already more than half the length of me, and heavy. In the past year or so we've been consciously trying to pick him up like this less often. He's getting a bit old for it. He's not "the baby" any more, and we need to show we're not treating him like one. Also like I said, the kid is getting heavy. Eric still picks him up and throws him around a bit, into the pool or onto the bed or the couch, or to catch him again. They love those games. I love that game too, in a very different context. Tonight is special though, because we're going to be apart for a few days. I put my phone up so he can read the message along with me.

"It's from dad!" he says, recognizing Eric's name.

"What does he say?" I ask.

"On...my...why," Geir reads.

"Way," I correct.

"On my way," he states. "He is coming?" he asks excitedly.

The message says that he is on his way home from the office and asks me not to let Amelia and the kids leave before he gets here.

"Sounds like it," I smile. "Where did you leave your brother?" I ask. Gunnar is in the room next door in his play pen. The baby monitor is on in there and the other end is clipped to my front pocket.

"In the cage," he answers.

"Is he sleeping?" I ask. I hope not. I kept him up through his normal naptime today so he'll sleep in the care with Amelia and Bob.

"No, he's chewing," he says. Geir doesn't really get the concept of teething, and why Gunnar is constantly putting things in his mouth. He is sounding sulky. He also missed naptime today.

"Everything okay, Geir?" I ask. He buries his face in my chest. That's a "No."

"Are you sleepy? You can sleep in the car on the way to see Calvin and Uncle Jas if you want." He's got his favourites.

"Why aren't you coming?" he asks.

I sigh. "Honey we talked about this last night. Do you remember what we said?"

"But why can't you just see Fahma another time?" he complains.

I can hear that Stella has let Amelia and Bob into the foyer so I go back into Geir's room and sit us down on the bed.

"We're not going to see Fahma, Geir. Fahma is Grandfather's mother, yes?" He nods. It had been tough getting this explained, because we've got a whopping one grandparent and one great-grandparent between the two of us. "We're going to see Claire. That's your Dad's mother."

"But why doesn't she just come to us?"

I sigh. We have definitely already had this conversation. "Because she is too sick to get out of bed and she lives far away. Do you remember where Claire lives?" And how we discussed this all last night?

"France."

"Mmhmm. And what's in France?"

"Claire."

"Very funny, wise guy," I say, tickling his ribs. "What else? Any other thing from France."

"Cheese?" he asks after a moment.

I laugh. He'd tried brie for the first time the other day. "Okay, true enough." I'd been hoping to slightly distract him, but it hasn't really worked.

"I want you and Dad to come with us to Christmas," he says.

"We want to come too, Geir, and hopefully we will get there in time. But just in case we don't, we will see you on the computer, just like when Dad has to go on a business trip."

"Then I'll miss you," he says, and wraps his arms around my neck. It is the saddest and sweetest thing I have heard all day. Amelia saves me from tears when she appears at the door.

"Hey Top Geir!" she chirps. "Ready to go?" Like many people, Amelia says Geir's name wrong. It's like Gee-yearr, but fast. Gear is pretty close, but she misses the very soft y sound and the extra bit of r. It could be worse, she could be saying it like Gay-er, as people sometimes do until they are corrected. We settled on this name for three reasons. First, all the men in his family have names that reflect their heritage. Eric had gotten the 'c' in favour of the more correct spelling with a 'k' because Viktor had disliked the un-Americanized version of his own name, and had insisted. Second, because it means spear, and Eric felt that was badass. Third, because having an unusual name gives you character. I, Sookie, will attest to that personally. Gunnar is named in the same vein. His means warrior, basically.

Geir just hugs me tighter so I rub his back and give Amelia a little smile before I pry his arms free and set him down on the floor.

"Geir, will you take your backpack downstairs please and wait for Dad?"

Without another word he does so, only giving Amelia a pat on the leg as he walks by her, not a proper greeting. Normally I would correct his manners, but we're just making exceptions all over the place today.

"He's mad, huh?" she asks.

"Sad and confused," I say. "I think he'll be okay once they get up there with the cousins. He's just weirded out that we're not leaving with you. Thank you again for driving them up, by the way."

"Well it's on our way," she shrugs with a grin. "Thanks for inviting Bob."

"So listen, I'll call you first thing in the morning, your time tomorrow, at Gran's. You have the keys, right?"

"I have the keys."

"And you know the alarm code?" Eric had insisted, when we found out I was pregnant the first time.

"Three Eight Two Four," she recites. Our anniversary, with a three in front, like a heart. Yeah, I know it's corny, but it's easy to remember. We'd gotten married in Anguilla, with just our very close friends-and-family in attendance.

"Alright, let me go get Gunnar."

She follows me into Gunnar's room, where he is indeed chewing on the tail of a plush dinosaur. I scoop him up and take him over to the changing table so he leaves fresh. We do a mix of cloth diapers and the disposable ones. Disposable ones at play group and whenever he's in the care of anyone besides Carmen or I, which is not often. We've got a supply up there in the nursery, which is what became of the other first floor bedroom, the one that had once been mine. I've also got his bag packed full of them. I'm not subjecting Amelia and Crystal to the ordeal of the cloth ones. Eric and I have a thing about throwing away plastics. As in, we try not to as much as possible, but this is a special situation. Over my shoulder I chat idly about the fact that Geir is wearing training pants just in case he has an accident. He's been potty trained for over a year now, but he still has the occasional accident, and he's upset today, and there's a car ride... I explain all this to Amelia and she just nods, accepting the airing of my worries. She'd more or less resigned herself to not having children of her own, a decision she was comfortable with, until she met Bob. Now, though she hasn't said so formally, I think that door might have cracked open again. We'll see how it goes.

I click off the monitor and unclasp the other side from my belt and tuck both components into the baby bag. I hand it off to Amelia and we head downstairs. Everything else is packed and ready in the foyer. Actually it's probably been loaded into their car by now, since I've heard Bob and Geir come in and out a couple times with my supersonic mom-hearing. I'd once thought old-lady superpowers were a joke, but I'm coming into them myself now, slowly but surely. That, or I'm just hyperaware of my children. I prefer the superpower theory. I'm also stronger on whole than I ever was, and I have the ability to instantly fall asleep during the first sign of an uninterrupted half hour's time now, too.

"I talked to Arlene today, she said to tell you Merry Christmas," Amelia says.

"Oh! How are Coby and Lisa?"

"Driving their mother up the wall, but that's nothing new," she grins.

Arlene and Whit divorced right after Lisa was born, about seven years ago now. He'd cheated, and left her for the mistress. That had been another hard time. She'd gone back to live with her parents for about six months, but now she and the kids have a nice little house of their own and she works as a curator in the Capital Park Museum up there. It's not a very high-paying job, but Arlene's father had ensured that she receives what was termed a "hearty" amount of alimony and child support. I hadn't pushed for details there, but she also has a nanny, so let's assume she's okay in that respect.

"Gotta love school vacations," I quip. Since my kids are not in school yet anyway, and since I am a teacher, I actually _do_ love school vacations.

Geir and Bob are nowhere to be seen downstairs so I shift Gunnar to my other hip and pull open the front door. Eric's home and he's got Geir hanging off him while he talks to Bob in the driveway. I wave to them and just leave the door flung open. I'm not trying to rush him despite the fact that I'm sure Amelia and Bob would like to get on the road. He takes the hint immediately though and shakes Bob's hand before coming along inside.

"Ah, where is my second son?" he asks coming in the house. "Where is Gunnar?" he asks loudly, as though Gunnar's eyes have not been fixed on him since he spotted him through the door. Gunnar starts to pull away from me waving his arms out. "Oh there he is," Eric smiles, and leans over to take Gunnar from me, kissing me as he does.

He hefts a boy in either arm and asks me pointedly what I have been feeding them before settling down on the bench in the foyer. I take this as my cue to go and put the car seats into Amelia's SUV. She follows me out, and I show her how each of the two have to be situated. Amelia tactfully goes over to help Bob check the contents of the trunk while I go back in to fetch the kids.

Geir is standing between Eric's legs looking, dare I say, a bit more confident, as he nods in response to whatever fatherly message has been conveyed in my absence. They look up as I come in and Eric gives Geir a quick one armed hug and then nudges him toward me.

"Go to your mother," he tells him. Geir comes over and hugs my legs and then takes my hand to lead us all outside. We pack the boys into the car and Amelia and I hug and I promise again to call them first thing in the morning and then they are gone and we wave them away, Bob giving the horn a little beep-beep as a final goodbye. I wrap my arms around Eric, feeling sad, and he pulls me to him and kisses the top of my head.

"They'll be fine," he assures me.

"I know," I agree. We stand for another moment until I sigh remembering that we sent them away for a reason, and we have a plane to catch tonight. "You need to get in the shower," I tell him.

"Are we all packed?"

"Yes, and the car is coming in an hour."

"Do you have time to join me?" he asks, turning us toward the house. I take a second to think that over before deciding it's probably going to be our last chance to have anything resembling a nice time alone for a few days and nod. His hand drops from my waist to my hip to my ass and he squeezes, giving a low rumble that never fails to make me feel sexy. He goes ahead upstairs and I say goodbye to Stella, pressing her holiday bonus into her hands as she leaves and telling her we'll see her next month. She won't be back until a day before we are, almost two weeks.

With my back against the wall standing on the low step that rings our shower basin, my other leg raised on the marble bench, I cling to Eric as he thrusts into me. He covers my mouth with his, silencing my moans as he pulls my hand from around his neck and leads it down between us. He is close and wants to be sure I come as well. I arch further into him, feeling confident in the firm grip he's got on my hips as I bring myself up to speed and I feel his pace quicken. I scrabble at his shoulders, whimpering into his mouth as I quickly feel myself cross the point of no return and shudder around him as my pleasure overtakes me. He is right behind me, finishing with a low groan. I still cling to him for another moment but I relax my fingers so my nails are no longer digging into his back.

He leans to kiss me once he's done riding his high. "I love you," he reminds me.

"I love you," I reply, meeting his eyes.

Yes, our shower was literally designed around our desire to have sex in it. We had spent about ten minutes being coy with the contractor before Eric blurted out that he wanted a way to make our heights match up. At that point I, mortified, had left the room, and Eric had taken over that part of the planning process. The end result is that we have a shower that is even better than the ones in any of Eric's hotels, with added features like reinforced towel racks and non-slip flooring and the bench. We used the same guy to redo the master bath in Bon Temps, paying a premium to have him stay up there to do the work, because I wasn't going to go through that a second time with a different person.

We finish our shower and quickly change into the outfits I left out for us earlier. We're pressed for time now, so I do what I can about my hair. Eric is basically wash-and-go now. He had bragged about this until I threatened to cut all mine off if it was so great having short hair. He likes my long hair, so he never fusses me about the time it still takes for me to style it.

The proximity to Christmas means that while I was able to get us two first class seats to Paris, they weren't together, so I leave it to Eric to flirt the stewardesses into handling that for us while we wait around to board. I'm well over feeling threatened by them and their casual admiration of my husband means that I enjoy the benefits of extra pillows and cookies and such.

Eric is unhappy with our room, which, owing to our last minute booking, had been nothing very nice. He doesn't like this hotel. He doesn't like this suite. The bellhop is rude and doesn't call him by name. He should have bought the Paris property he looked at last year. "Yes, clearly you should buy a hotel in every city we may ever happen to need to visit," I say under my breath. I am indifferent to whether or not he heard me. He's being a pill. I break open the mini-bar and empty a miniature bottle of scotch into one of the glass tumblers they have set out by the ice bucket. There's only one of these, so I hope it does the trick. We're still not big drinkers but this may take the edge off. It's eleven in the morning here, four a.m. back in Louisiana. I slept on the plane, and hope he managed to as well. I encourage him to nap for an hour, and though he does lay down the whole time, he only sleeps for about twenty minutes.

There are no set visiting hours for the hospice ward where Claire is dying. I'd checked with Michelle. At the front desk, Eric asks after Claire Northman. I know she's been married two other times since she was married to Viktor, but she hadn't changed her name again. Claire is sleeping when we arrive and Eric is ready to leave and come back later, but her nurse intervenes and gently coaxes the withered old woman awake.

"Eric," she identifies, fixing her eyes on her son.

"Mother," Eric acknowledges.

Her eyes shift to me. "Sookie," she says, after only a moment.

It's my time to be here for Eric, so I do what he can't and cross to her and take her hands as though she's not practically a stranger. "Hello Missus Northman," I say. "How are you feeling today?"

"Tired," she rasps out.

"Michelle, your nurse called us, Missus Northman. I wish you'd called us sooner," I say.

"Eric... does not wish to see me," she says.

"Eric is right here, ma'am," I tell her firmly. I take his hand. I don't try to put it in hers, I just hold it in mine, being the connection between them.

We stay like that for a moment, and neither of them moves to speak, so I start to. It's mostly just noise. I tell her which hotel we are staying at, and I tell her how the boys have gone to their cousins' for the holidays. I tell her I have pictures if she would like to see them later. I tell her about my work. I tell her about Eric's work, and how busy he is, and how proud I am of him, and what a perfectionist he is, and what a sly negotiator, and about the deals he's made, and about the people he employs, and what a great father he is, and a great husband, and how much I love him. At some point during my uninterrupted speech I start crying and I feel Eric rubbing across my shoulders and my back. I tell her how sorry I am that she doesn't know him, and how sad it makes me that she didn't want to. I tell her how happy the boys make him. How I know he doesn't really want to wait to try for another, even though he hasn't brought it up. How we both hope that the next one will be a girl. How he spoils the boys, and me. How he loves us so unconditionally.

I talk for almost an hour before I can't anymore, and at that point I give Claire Northman's hand a small squeeze and hug Eric, and go out to find the salle de bain so I can freshen up. My phone rings while I'm in there and it's Amelia calling so I answer quickly, worried that something's gone wrong, but instead it's Geir on the line who must have woken them up very early because it's still before eight, there, I quickly tabulate.

I switch on the camera and he notices right away that I've been crying, and he asks me what's wrong, and I remind him that Claire is very sick, and that makes me sad. He tells me that he is glad, and when I ask why, he tells me that it is because he thought we were leaving him to go have fun without him, which broke my heart.

"Don't cry mom," he says.

"I'm sorry Geir. I just miss you guys very much," I tell him.

"I know mom," he says, dismissing me. He's already over it.

"Honey, why did you think we were here having fun?" I ask him, because I thought we have explained pretty well why we were going, and I hate the idea that he thinks we were lying about that. Maybe standing in the bathroom of French hospital two days before Christmas via video chat is not the ideal time and place to have a heart to heart with your four year old, but this is happening.

"Because you're on the screen," he explains, and I see him tap the screen of Amelia's phone.

"What do you mean, Geir?" I ask.

"Dad is always smiling when he calls on the screen," my son explains. "He has fun."

"Geir, Dad is always smiling on the screen because he gets to talk to _us_," I say, and very quickly I pull myself together.

"Is Dad there?" he asks.

"He's still talking to Claire, honey. He will call you in a little while."

"Are you coming back today?" he asks.

"Not today honey. Is Gunnar awake yet?"

"No."

"What did you have for breakfast?" I ask.

"Auntie A is making pancakes," he tells me, and I hear that he's now walking with the phone toward the kitchen. I get a view of his chest as he does so. He's still in his pyjamas. He's holding the phone out, like you need to, but he's focusing on walking now, so it's tilted down. The view swings around and focuses on Amelia's midsection, and the griddle.

"Morning Sook," I hear her say. "Geir, are you done talking to your mom?"

"Yeah," he says. Suddenly the screen is full of Geir again.

"I'm going to have pancakes now," he tells me.

"Okay honey, we'll call you a little later. I love you."

"Okay mom. I love you."

"Give Gunnar a kiss for me and your dad when he wakes up please."

"Okay mom. Bye."

My phone goes black. I spend another couple of minutes in the bathroom, re-re-fixing my face. When I look halfway presentable I make my way back to Claire's room. From the doorway I see that Eric has sat down beside her and they are talking. He looks up and nods to me, so I simply point down the hall and leave them to talk. He's another hour or so, and I take the time to arrange a couple of picture galleries on my tablet. It's pretty great to be able to walk around with thousands of photos in my purse. Not all of Eric's little technical gadgets are useless.

He finds me and tells me Claire has gone to sleep for now, so we go back to the hotel to do the same for another couple of hours, taking time to call the kids first. Calvin and Jason are over, and Geir is happily following his cousin and idol around the place. After we hang up with them, I tell Eric about Geir's earlier worries, and suggest that he take Geir with him alone on the next trip. That way Geir can see first hand that Eric isn't leaving us to go play and have fun. We eat and return to the hospital in the evening, and spend a couple of hours presenting "Sookie and Eric: the Early Years," in photo form. She nods off before we can get to the kids, which leaves us some ground to cover tomorrow. Eric told me that what he and Claire had talked about while I'd been out of the room before was mostly me and us. After today, I guess she's got a real clear picture about our life together.

The next day is Christmas Eve. Eric decides to go to the hospital alone in the morning. Because I cannot restrain myself, I go out and buy, in addition to little gifts for the children and the rest of the family, a useless but decorative musical snowglobe for Claire's room. She has no holiday decorations in there. That is not the case throughout the hospital, so it may have been her preference, but I don't really care, because I feel compelled to do something for her. I also get a box of chocolates and a pretty winter-themed bouquet with dark roses and holly and black calla lilies. It's not your typical bright hospital floral arrangement, but Claire is not going to, "Get well soon," and one of the very few things I know about her is that she was a woman of style and taste, and the bouquet is certainly elegant.

I meet Eric at the hospital and I can see that he's been crying when I walk in the room. I try to ignore it as I present Claire with her Christmas presents, but I do kiss him on the forehead as I pass behind them to put the flowers and the snowglobe up on the little table beside her bed. Michelle comes in with Claire's lunch then, and helps to feed her while we tell her about Geir and Gunnar. When she leaves, Eric feeds her a couple of chocolates. She thanks me for them and tells me they are the best she has ever had, which I accept graciously despite knowing she is likely exaggerating.

She dies in the evening, so abruptly that we thought she had fallen asleep again, until Michelle appears with a doctor to do the required tests. Eric begins to weep and as there's no better way to be near him, I unselfconsciously climb into his lap and hold him to me. They look to me for instruction, asking if they should take her away or leave her here. I tell them they can take her, and it's a matter of moments before they have pulled her sheet up and wheeled her narrow bed away, leaving us alone. We will call back later or tomorrow to make further arrangements. We stay for another twenty minutes before I lead him out and back to the hotel, pausing only to thank Michelle as we depart.

He goes to shower and I call Bon Temps to check in. I get Crystal, who is cooking, and tells me that everyone else is out in the yard playing ball. I tell her about Claire so she can pass the news along to the adults. She asks me when we're going to be back, and since I don't have an answer for her I hang up and get on the internet to see about flights. No amount of money can put us on a plane tonight. We are forced to settle for six in the morning. With the time difference, we'll arrive at about eight, their time. We'll be in Bon Temps for Christmas dinner, but we'll miss the presents opening while driving, unless we go back to the house and watch it on video, but that will delay our arrival. I leave the choice to Eric. He chooses to drive as soon as we land.

I make what arrangements we can, for the car to pick us up here and take us to Aéroport Paris-Charles De Gaulle, and another to take us back to the house. We will be paying both holiday and short-notice premiums for both of these, but this is one of the times when we simply nod and be thankful we have the money to willingly hand over. We call the boys and hear about their morning, and tell them we will see them tomorrow afternoon. We call room service and eat terrible food washed down with ample amounts of a wine that somewhat redeems the meal and gets us good and properly sleepy, as was our goal. It's incredibly early to go to sleep, but we're going to lose seven hours and have to drive and be expected to be up and 'on' for Christmas, so we go to bed by seven in the evening, having very quick sex beforehand.

Over dinner Eric confessed that the greatest emotion he feels in regards to his mother's death is relief. When I probe at that he explains that what the visit had done for him most of all, was finally convince him that he wasn't his parents, nor was he spontaneously going to turn into them. He wasn't going to die alone, at odds with our children. They weren't going to grow up resenting him. He has them and me, and the rest of our family, and he will always have us. She had apologized to him that morning, and he had been able to tell her that while he appreciated the sentiment, he didn't need to hear it. He is happy, and he thanked her, and then he had changed the subject, and told her about our little extended family and friends. Our lives are full in ways that hers had never been. He didn't tell her to rub that in, he said. He had just talked about them because he missed them.

He wakes me in the morning, at three. That makes it eight o'clock last night, in Louisiana. So we are able to call our sons and say goodnight on Christmas Eve. We wash and dress and go to the airport and wait and wait and fly and land and drive and get back to our house in time to freshen up and eat and then we get in the mom-car and head north at an average speed of ninety-five miles per hour, excluding one stop for gas and restroom use. We don't bother going to Gran's because they are all at Crystal and Jason's. Calvin and Jason lead the charge out of the house as we pull up in the driveway. Geir is right behind them, followed by Sassafras and Amelia with Gunnar. Crystal and Bob bring up the rear.

"_Now_ can we open presents?" pleads Calvin. They'd waited. Four children under ten years old in one house and they'd managed to wait to open presents until almost one in the afternoon. Talk about your Christmas miracles.

"Go get my Santa hat," Jason relents. He is the present giver-outer.

Calvin tears off into the house with Sassafras on his heels and Geir looks torn for a moment but ultimately chooses us. Well, me first. Eric takes Gunnar from Amelia and kisses his boy, then comes over to Geir and I and does the same. I hand him his larger child as well and he takes them inside while Amelia and Bob help me clear the car of the extra presents from France. They're not wrapped, so we'll just hand them out as everyone goes.

Eric receives one pearl inlaid cufflink from each of the boys, a very nice new watch from me, and some flight simulation software and a solar powered charger from Santa. I get one ruby earring from each of the boys, a matching necklace from Eric, and a diamond and ruby tennis bracelet from Santa. Little bit over the top there, Santa.

"Santa can hardly be held accountable if you were very good this year, Missus Northman," Eric says, in response to the look I give him, which was mostly amusement with only a touch of incredulity.

"Yes, I suppose that's true," I say, showing my high-mindedness. I give him a brilliant smile.

"That's it?" he asks, obviously expecting more objection.

"That's it," I agree. "Merry Christmas, baby," I coo.

"Merry Christmas, lover," he smirks.

It's a nice little moment until Geir flings himself into Eric's lap, kneeing him in groin. Oofph. Merry Christmas indeed.


	25. Outtake: Bromancing the Drone

A/N: **Caution**, this contains some **blunt references to rape** in the context of addressing unanswered questions from the main story. It's light-hearted overall, but does have these couple of dark moments. Feel free to skip it entirely if you're not into that, you're missing nothing. Also, this is a bit long. Thanks for looking in. This story is now completely complete. :)

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><p>EPOV<p>

Friday, June 1

I'm going to marry Sookie Stackhouse. I've known this since about three days after I found her in the first class lounge at Sea-Tac Airport, of all places. I don't personally subscribe to all that crap about fate or kismet or whatever you wish to call it. Sookie is a spiritual person. I'm not sure the full extent of that; whether she believes that God has a _plan_ for her. If He does, then that was definitely part of it. Either way, it had been one hell of a coincidence, both of us turning up there that night, and the events that followed.

From the men I've known who have gotten married it seems to occur in one of two ways. Either they know immediately, like me with Sookie, that the girl is marriage material, or they eventually just decide that it is time for them to be married and so they marry whoever they happen to be with at that time. That's basically what Sookie's brother is doing. Cut and dry, those are the options. Some people like the idea of love waxing over time and romance blossoming. Maybe that's how they perceive it happening, but as far as I'm concerned, that's bullshit. You know right away if you've got a perfect girl in your hands. Guys in the first group may bide their time, taking it slow to ensure there are no hidden deal breakers, but in point of fact the decision has already been made. It's just a matter of following protocol in order to lock it down.

I am in the process of doing that. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, this is what's happening. Sookie has just signed a one-year lease on her rental house. This is perfect for my timeline. I'll propose in another four or five months, and we can take our time looking for a house. I'm not terribly concerned about the wedding itself. If I have my choice, I think I'd like to go away somewhere to do it. Maybe on this beach I'm buying in Hawaii. I've shown her the pictures and she said it is breathtaking.

Sookie is younger than I am, so we will not need to rush into having kids. We can enjoy each other for a few years. We have not yet talked about the logistics of that, but thanks to my drunken rambling, she is aware that I would like some children. I would be alright with two or three if she doesn't want four. I definitely don't want just one though. I don't know if she is going to want to try to go back to work after she has them, or not. In our situation, she'll have the luxury of a choice. I already know it will be very important to her to make that choice for herself, so I haven't bothered forming an opinion. Suffice to say, I've got plans for us in the long term.

I need to clarify that it hadn't been love at first sight with Sookie and I. Lust at first sight, yes. And every sight thereafter, for that matter. The girl is hot. Beautiful. She is my ideal in terms of looks and body type. I am a large man, so all women are small to me. Sookie is not so short that I feel like I am fucking a child or something. It's happened. It's a turnoff. I could not leave fast enough when we were done. Some of these shoes women wear are fucking devious. Sookie's got the whole soft, feminine curves thing going for her. Her legs, her hips, her ass. Her breasts are spectacular. You see ones like hers all the time of course, but you get used to the idea that they only exist in two dimensions with the help of editing software. The real life version is awesome.

I met Sookie when she was still dating Bill Compton, who'd come part and parcel with his company when we bought it. He took every opportunity to show her off. I didn't mind that a bit as it had certainly added some enjoyment to a number of otherwise tedious events for me. She is confident without being conceited and demure without being diffident. She's also got a hearty streak of sass. It was pretty fun to shake her calm and try to draw that out. I imagine that if I had ever just grabbed her and kissed her, she would have hit me with one of those little beaded bags they carry and stormed off in a tirade. I would have found it cute. I had no idea how that asshole had ever bagged a girl like her nor why he'd been stupid enough to blow it, let alone for that she-demon.

Lorena had been with Area Five for a couple of years before she brought Compton's start-up to our attention. She had made good advisements in the past. She was cold and dispassionate, not like a lot of these software people with their pet projects that are theoretically cool, but ultimately unmarketable. She had always seemed suited to her position. When it came out that Bill was her ex-husband, of course I questioned her. She'd made it clear that they hadn't parted amicably, and that this was just good business, not favouritism. I'd accepted that. Being candid, if it came up again, I would have flagged her earlier as being dishonest but still gone ahead and made the deal, because it _was_ good business. I'd guessed there was something going on there pretty quickly, just from seeing the casual contact between Bill and Lorena once he came on board. But it was always... what had Pam called her? Barbie... that he brought out for show.

When I first saw her, I'll admit I assumed that was all she was. Wittingly or not, I found myself quickly corrected, which is what first piqued my interest. I stood by impassively as my own date was ridiculously rude to her and I thought we were going to have some kind of hot girl cat fight on our hands, which would have improved the boring evening _dramatically_. When instead, Sookie had just stuck her chin out and taught my date a lesson in decorum, I was intrigued. She was with that dipshit long-term, however. From then on, I could politely say that I'd played the rake where she was concerned. Or as she put it, I behaved like a lecherous ass. I didn't really have anything to lose though, so yes, I practically propositioned her at every opportunity. Win for me if she ever spontaneously said yes, right?

I'll admit that I did hold it against Compton that he had her and I didn't. This is really just one in a longer list of reasons why I came to dislike him, however. He was a pretentious prick and social grasper with delusions of grandeur. He was also something of a brownnoser. He did write good code, though, which was ultimately what mattered to me at that point in time. I didn't have to be friends with the guy.

I don't really keep up with friends in general. Don't get me wrong, I've had friends before. My upbringing was not so devoid that I never had any buddies. I have never been antisocial in the way that commonly characterizes people very interested in technology, as I am. I just hadn't many whom I would consider friends _lately_, unless you count Pam. I'd managed to lose touch with my school friends. Actually, that would imply that I'd tried and failed. I _didn't_ try and accepted the consequences of that. In my work, it was for the best. Case in point, the situation with Sookie and Tara Thornton. I know Sookie still feels conflicted about Tara, which is why I have avoided discussing my plans for Arkansas with her in any detail.

I'm a little older than the Facebook generation that will move forward through life keeping permanent tabs on every person they have ever interacted with. I don't really have time for that even if I were so inclined, which I'm frankly not. Sookie is not on Facebook either, because of her work. As an educator, she needs to be concerned with her appearance in the face of scrutiny from students and parents, not to mention her employer. That includes her internet presence, so she just avoids it entirely. She has some sort of secret pink sorority network that fills this void for her.

The sorority thing can be amusing at times. She once got us a table at a restaurant by whispering some magic pass-phrase to the hostess after recognizing a pin the girl was wearing. I kid you not, that actually happened. Fucking frats and sororities. Sookie apparently _loved_ her sorority experience. She is still in touch with _all of them_. It has to be different for women. I also credit the fact that she wasn't exposed to them until she got to university with her inability to see their negatives, unlike me. She thinks I hate them because of the stereotypes. She's half right. I hate them because stereotypes are formed from truths. Hazing? Try coping with that shit when you're fourteen years old and the ritual of initiation consists of getting held down by a gang of upperclassmen and fucked in the ass. That happens. Maybe not everywhere. Maybe not always like that. I'm sure there are plenty of fraternal orders where you're merely bound or flogged or shat and pissed upon or forced to drink yourself unconscious. I'm sure somewhere there's that _bright side_. This is not a subject we'll have to revisit until our kids go to school. Maybe by then I'll have gotten around to sharing the truth of my misgivings with her. I'm in no particular rush.

Back to the point of the discussion of friends and brotherhood; I'm going to marry Sookie, and she's got a brother. I've never had a sibling, so I'm going to attempt to treat this guy like a friend. Jason Stackhouse seems pretty mellow. Goofy, at times. Like a dog or something. In a good way though. I like the guy. I've been thinking about getting a dog. His resemblance to Sookie is in looks, and honesty, and the fact that they're both hardworking people. He does not seem to have her brains, compassion, or selflessness. When we met before, he'd been very welcoming. I hadn't expected it. Considering I was arriving on the heels of Bill Compton, I'd expected to be judged harshly. That hadn't been the case. We'd had the chance to talk about him briefly on that first meeting. I quickly realized that the mere fact of my being not-Bill had been a hundred points in my favour from the get go. The only male-relative intimidation he'd fronted was when he asked me point blank if I was serious about his sister and if I was treating her right. I'd told him yes on both accounts, and that seemed to settle the matter for him.

We'd gotten up to Sookie's Bon Temps house in the afternoon and I'd convinced her we should get a start on moving the boxes that were still already packed. It kept us busy for while. When Jason had turned up after work, Sookie went inside and left us to talk. He showed me his burned leg which was pretty disgusting actually. I was surprised. When Sookie had said that her brother's leg had been on fire and she had thrown herself on him to put it out, I was somehow not picturing anything as bad as this. I realized I was supposed to respond in kind, so I shared my broken leg skiing story, leaving out the details of the hospital stay. He started telling me about this one time he'd fallen out of a tree trying to get a ball that Sookie had kicked up into the branches. At that point, she came out and told him all about how I missed the call that the sail was swinging around on my great uncle's yacht one summer and gotten hurled into the ocean.

"What would have been wrong with a good old fashioned call of, 'Hit the deck?'" I asked rhetorically. Clearly Fahma and Sookie had discussed a much broader range of topics at their luncheon than either had initially let on.

Jason laughed and slapped me on the back.

"How about 'hit the showers?'" Sookie suggested. "If you guys want 'em, take 'em now, cause Crystal's going to be home soon and I am starting on dinner."

"Shower sounds good," Jason said. He lifted his arm and smelled his own pit, and pulled an exaggerated face of disgust.

I watched as Sookie shoved him toward the house. "You gotta do that when we have _company_?" she hissed. He laughed at her. I followed them both inside.

Sookie's shower is awful. I'd never say that to her of course. It serves her well enough, but I've got to crouch down to get my head under the spray and it's just too small in general. It's going to need to be replaced at some point if we are going to keep coming up here, hopefully sooner rather than later. I have no idea what her budget was like in terms of renovations for this house, especially considering that nightmare next door that Compton has dumped on her. Worst case scenario, I would just take the liberty at some point, once we were official and she wouldn't be able to argue. Rather, at that point, I'd have grounds to argue back. This is a nice old place in general. It has a lot of character. It's very fitting of her. It could use a lot of updating, though. At least the water pressure is good and there are no issues with two showers running simultaneously.

I know from experience that the hot water doesn't last very long so pull myself away from my thoughts and finish up pretty quickly. Stepping out of the steamy bathroom, the smell of whatever she's cooking hits me and my mouth starts watering. That line about the key to a man's heart being through his stomach is a crock. It's not like that works if there isn't already attraction. Having a girl who can cook though, seems like a serious plus. I'd had some of Sookie's food the last time I was here and it was great. I'm definitely looking forward to having more of it on a regular basis. She genuinely enjoys cooking too. She misses doing it when she stays with me. I don't feel like I'd be imposing on her if I let her cook for us in the future.

I quickly braid my hair back and put on some clean jeans and a shirt. I head out to the kitchen and take the beer Jason offers and sit down to salivate while I watch my girlfriend buzz around her kitchen turning chicken and mushrooms and seasonings into food. She's even wearing a little apron. The bow is tied right at the small of her back and the little ends swish back and forth across her ass. I don't think she did this deliberately. It is distracting. Jason is talking about football now and I force myself to focus. I do not watch a lot of television, which includes sports. I don't have a lot of extra time for it. I try to follow things in an oblique way, treating sports news like any other news.

Despite the fact that I don't care for a lot of media, I do find myself compelled to pay attention to the news. It's very useful to be able to speak with authority on a variety of topics. I do not like finding myself in the situation where I'm disadvantaged by a lack of general knowledge. Keeping myself abreast of current events is something I have found serves me well in general, so despite the fact that I don't really follow football, I'm aware of the controversy with the coach of the New Orleans Saints this year, and the alleged bounties issued for injuring the players on the opposing teams.

"Definitely a lousy thing to do from a P.R. standpoint," I observe.

"Whaddya mean?" Jason asks, taking another sip of his beer.

"Well the team has been a great source of pride in the city, and the scandal certainly robs people of that," I say.

"It's messed up," Jason agrees. I remember that Sookie has told me he used to play ball when he was in school.

"Makes it seem like we can't win without being thugs," I continue. "It definitely detracts from the athletes' achievements."

"That stuff definitely happens. Even I used to get hit pretty hard. Unnecessary roughness," Jason remembers.

"Yeah, but you don't want to encourage that on an organizational level," I say. "Did they say who's going to replace Williams yet?" I ask. Williams is, or was, the defensive coordinator of the Saints, who was most embroiled in the scandal. I do not actually know the first name.

"Nah, they're still dicking around. I'm hoping we get Del Rio, but they're saying it's Spagnuolo now," Jason says.

I nod as though I agree with Jason's assessments on both the dicking around and the suitability of Del Rio over Spagnuolo. I make a mental note to look up these names. The Saints are the home team. They come up in conversation frequently.

Crystal arrives and joins Sookie at the counter to fix a salad while Sookie turns her attention to the pasta. It's getting progressively warmer in the kitchen so Jason gets up to open a window and grab us some more beers. I'm surprised that these are actually good. I think I'd mentally pigeonholed Jason in the Budweiser camp, but he's serving Dixie.

"I don't think I would have pegged you for a microbrew man," I comment.

"This is all I'm allowed to keep in the house," he explains. "Crystal's pissed she can't get none of the Strawberry Abitas this year. So we all have to suffer," he finishes, aiming his last comment at Crystal, a little louder. Abita is the large and ubiquitous Louisiana brewery. They have a seasonal Strawberry Wheat beer. Crystal takes exception to his remark and tosses a carrot at him which he deftly catches and pops into his mouth with a grin. Sookie turns around to view the exchange and I catch her eye for a moment and she gives me a little smile before turning back to whatever she's making, which is now filling the air with a thickly sweet aroma. That is unexpected. Maybe it's sweet and sour chicken or something.

It turns out to be Chicken Marsala which she serves over pasta and it's amazing. I guess the Marsala just smells sweet, but it's not really in the taste. The girls are talking about the recipe and Jason suggests that we all go out to Merlotte's again once we're done eating. I agree that this sounds fine. Sookie seems to be up for it, but Crystal is not. Once she voices that, Sookie decides that she is tired and wants a shower, so I guess Jason and I will be going alone. That will be fine. I end up having three helpings of the chicken and spaghetti. Sookie seems happy with the fact that we leave no leftovers. Once we have cleared the table, Crystal pulls Jason off to lecture him about being a good boy while we are out. He takes it like a man. I take the opportunity of her brother being distracted to grab Sookie to me.

Nuzzling into her neck I ask, "Aren't you going to warn me to behave tonight?" I ask her.

"Do I need to?" she asks as she brushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I nip at her neck in response. She knows exactly what she is doing with the fingertips brushing my ear like that.

"I don't think we'll be late," I answer. She's right, she doesn't need to worry. I've been pretty clear with my intentions here.

"Don't let him drive if he shouldn't though, or call me if you're both in no shape, yes?" she asks.

"I don't plan to get drunk, but yes, I will if necessary," I assure her. I hear Jason coming back down the hall so I take my chance and give her a good and proper kiss goodbye, dipping her back a little. It's amusing the way she always slightly panics like I'm going to drop her or something. I feel Jason slap me hard on the back.

"Cut that shit out in front of me," he says. Oh right. This is his sister I'm making out with. I can hear that he's joking though.

"Jason be nice," Sookie scolds. I smirk, because that's twice. I do not get scolded by Sookie.

It's a short drive over to the bar and it's a lot busier tonight than it was when we were here before. It seems to be the same sort of local crowd. Jason and I take a booth and when the waitress comes over I go ahead and order a pitcher of the Strawberry Abita, which the little chalk drawn sign told me was newly on tap. He gives me a look.

"I'm man enough to drink strawberry beer," I shrug. "Besides, it sounded good."

"Yeah, it is," he admits, chuckling. "Alright Dawn, that, and two mugs, and then let me get an order of fries." It's my turn to give him a look. I'm definitely still full from dinner.

"It's the salt," he explains, offering nothing further. Okay then. The man's got his habits, I suppose.

I watch as Jason rests back in the bench and throws an arm up over the back. As before, a couple of the other waitresses come over to say hello to him. They both flirt in a familiar sort of way, though one asks after Crystal.

"She's home with Sook," he explains. "This is Eric, Sookie's man," Jason explains.

"Eric, this is Dawn Green. She went to school with Sookie and me."

I shake hands with the waitress who's not really being shy about the appraising look she's giving me.

"My my my, Sookie's doing well for herself isn't she?" Dawn says with what I think is supposed to be a sultry smile. She's talking to Jason but she's still looking at me. I drop her hand.

"She is," I confirm, ignoring her look. "She's just been hired at Peterson Academy down in New Orleans."

"Oh that's right, I heard she was teaching up here at the high school sometimes," Dawn says vaguely.

"Yeah, she had to give them her notice that she's not in the substitute ring anymore," I say. "We're up this weekend to move the rest of her stuff into her new place."

"Dawn, you got J.B. calling you," Jason nods with a sidelong glance at another table where a man is indeed straining to get the waitress's attention.

She offers me another smile before wandering off.

"Ex?" I ask Jason.

He offers a sheepish grin and a nod. "Something like that. Small town," he offers in explanation. "That's one of Sookie's over there," he says with a smirk, nodding to the same guy at the other table who is now placing an order with the very hands-on Dawn.

"Sookie dated that guy?" I ask to confirm. He's a good-looking guy, probably closer to Jason's height than mine. He's in a t-shirt that's a bit tight across his chest and arms. He definitely goes to the gym.

"Well, he took her to a couple of dances back in high school. He's a good guy," Jason offers.

The guy catches us looking at him, though I suppose we weren't exactly being covert about it. Jason gives him a wave and he sends Dawn on her way and stands up to come over and say hello.

"Hey Jas," he offers coming up to the table. "J.B. Du Rone," the guy offers to me with his hand extended.

"Eric Northman," I say, shaking.

Jason slides over as our beer and the fries arrive and J.B. takes a seat opposite me. They chat for a little while about Jason's work. Apparently they're going to be closing a road intermittently next week. I ask him how it is in the summer when it's so hot, and he explains that union regulations are pretty strict about break times when the heat index is over certain points, and that there are some other restrictions on their hours of labour as well. J.B. is nodding along as though all of this is known to him already. I feel as if I'm gaining a certain insight into why one tends to see road workers standing around all the time doing visibly nothing.

"So what's that pretty sister of yours been up to?" J.B. asks.

Jason smirks at me before telling him that she is moving back to New Orleans. I don't think J.B. catches the look. They talk a little bit about Sookie for a few minutes to Jason's amusement, which is only obvious to me. This guy is clearly curious to catch up on how she's doing and he hasn't been informed of who I am in relation to her. It's pretty harmless, but I get tired of keeping quiet after a few minutes.

Steering the conversation, I ask Jason how it's going in management and he tells me the young guys are still giving him shit. This baffles all of us. He's only a couple of years older than Sookie and this J.B. guy, and I am only a few years older than him, and we all still consider ourselves to be young guys. I guess he's referring to kids right out of high school. Surely we were more focused at that age? I mean maybe it's a road crew and not college, but for fuck's sake, it's your life. Whatever you're doing, do it well.

"Jas," J.B. says, elbowing Jason and jutting his chin up in the direction of the door. His eyes have gone cold and squinting which is an odd expression on his amiable face.

Jason looks up and his face darkens to a steely pall. He gives me a hard look, which I don't understand. I lift my eyebrows and crane my neck around to see two guys in the doorway who look, if I'm being blunt, a deal grimier than most of the clientele. Low class, not working class. I make an effort not to be a snob as a general rule. I really dislike the attitude that wealth somehow makes you a better person. I assure you, it does not. In fact, it's much more likely to make you a worse person, since it means a shitty attitude is less likely to be corrected in the normal course of life's adversity. So despite the fact that both Jason and J.B. have gone hostile across from me, I say nothing about the two guys, and merely turn back to them to wait for an explanation. I don't get one.

Dawn appears again and shoots Jason a warning expression before showing the guys to a table well away from us, in a different section. She leads them back around the far side of the room so they come nowhere near us. Once they're out of anyone's eye line Jason slams back the rest of his beer and pours himself another, which he resumes sipping casually.

Not caring to wait anymore, I ask, "Who are they?"

"Mack Rattray and Tom Hardaway," J.B offers. Thanks, that explains nothing.

Jason is giving me another stern look. Finally he says flatly, "They messed with Sookie back in high school."

This is not a story I know, but Jason and J.B. both remain tense, so I can presume it's no very nice story. Another of Jason's buddies appears then, and I am introduced to Hoyt Fortenberry and his girlfriend Holly. She settles in beside me while Hoyt pulls a chair up to sit at the head of the table. Our waitress comes back to take an order from Hoyt and Holly and we all settle in to a conversation about a live band playing next week at a bar in Monroe that Holly wants to go see. I don't miss the silent exchange between Hoyt and the other two guys that indicates Hoyt's recognition of Mack and Tom in the bar, nor the fact that Hoyt has positioned himself in such a way that he's effectively blocking J.B. and Jason in.

Holly turns to me during a lull in our conversation. "So what do you do, Eric?"

"I'm with Area Five down in New Orleans. Well, Seattle technically, but I'm in New Orleans for now."

"Oh you're Sookie's Eric!" she recognizes. I had been introduced simply as myself to everyone aside from the flirtatious waitress, Dawn.

"That I am," I grin. I see J.B. shoot Jason a look as that sinks in which Jason responds to by cracking up laughing.

"I told you not to bother me about my sister man," I hear Jason say.

The conversation then shifts to New Orleans and the party agrees that none of them get down there as often as they would like. Holly remarks that though she loves the city it's just such a far drive. Hoyt and J.B. admit that they've only been there once in their entire lives. Being pretty well travelled, I'm having a bit of a culture shock moment here, so I counter with the fact that I haven't spent much time in small towns like this. They discuss the benefits of small town living, as told by people who have never known anything else. I'm happy to listen and hear what they have to say until Hoyt notices that the pool table has opened up, and as a group we decide to go and have a few games.

I make a stop on the way over to piss out some of the strawberry beer. As I'm washing up, the two guys, Mack and Tom, appear in the bathroom. They're carrying on in raucous conversation and I catch only the name Stackhouse before I duck out. I'm not the type of guy who gets into fights. I haven't been in one since I was maybe fifteen. The only martial art I've ever studied is fencing, which is little use in an actual fight. It gave me good reflexes and a knowledge of my reach and how to position my body in relation to opponents, but outside the bag at the gym, I've never thrown a punch as an adult. It's a natural reaction to physically assess other people. One of these guys is fairly weedy. The other is built a lot more thickly. I'm not exactly expecting an altercation, but I'm fairly confident that any two of the guys in our group could take them out easily. I'm actually more concerned with the idea of Hoyt and I being able to restrain Jason and J.B. in case anything occurs. I figure Sookie will not be pleased if I let her brother get into a fist fight or something. I've got some inches on Jason, but he's a solid guy. Then again, if these guys used to bother Sookie, maybe my heart won't be in it.

I rejoin the others and find that Jason and Hoyt are already mid-game, so stand with Holly and J.B., who've taken the liberty of transferring our beers over to the little ledge here. They finish their game and while I offer to let Holly play, she waves me on, so I pair up with Jason and J.B. pairs up with Hoyt. About twenty minutes goes by before Mack and Tom make their appearance by the pool table.

"Jason Stackhouse," one drawls.

"Mack," Jason answers.

"How you been doin'?"

"Better for not seeing you, shithead. Why don't you go ahead back to your table now," he answers coolly before taking his shot, and sinking it.

"You got no time for old friends, Jas?" the other guy, the bigger one, Tom, asks. "How bout you, J.B.? How you doin' Holly?"

Holly gives the faintest nod, then turns away to focus her attention on the pool table.

Mack, the thinner, and clearly the drunker, of the two, takes a step toward Holly and I. Instinctively I pull myself out of my slouch and set my beer down. He hasn't come any closer, and I'm not exactly putting myself between he and Holly, but it's a matter of a step to body check him. I catch Hoyt's eyes for a moment. He is on the far side of the table for now.

"Who's this big fucker then?" Mack asks, turning his attention on me.

"That's Sookie's boyfriend Eric," J.B. offers, also from across the table. Jason is down a few paces from me, but he's nearest.

I take advantage of my height and look down at Mack, feeling free to let my disdain show, since the rest of the group has no bones about showing theirs.

"Sookie Stackhouse, huh? Now that's a hot piece of ass." He actually looks to me as he says it, hopeful for camaraderie. I say nothing. "Crazy bitch, but I definitely see why you'd hit that," he concludes, giving me a smarmy little smirk. He glances back at Tom, and then to Jason and then lets out a laugh. I look at Jason, who is staring intently down at the pool table and I can see that his knuckles have gone white around the pool cue.

"I think it's time for you to go Mack," Hoyt says, stepping forward. He's got his arms up slightly, almost using the cue stick to ward them off. I do go ahead at this point and take up a defensive stance in front of Holly. I see Dawn come up behind Tom then.

"Hey guys, I got your wings up at your table," she coos. Tom does not respond to her. Even this dumb fuck is aware of the tension that the erstwhile barmaid is trying to diffuse, and is standing at the ready.

"Come on, Mack," Dawn says, stepping further into it. "Leave these boys to their game." She starts to reach her hand up to his arm and he swats her off, causing her to stumble back a step. In a matter of seconds J.B. comes up between them and pushes Mack back, and then the bartender is there with his bat in hand, looking every inch like he's ready to use it. He's ordering Mack and Tom out of the bar.

"You don't touch the waitresses," the bartender informs. "And you don't come back here."

The pair of them take one look at the odds, which apparently include the four of us, the man with the bat, and whoever else might be paying attention on the other side of the bar at this point (likely everyone), and leave without another word. The bartender watches from the door until they've driven off out of sight, then turns around and calls, "Show's over," to the general occupants, before heading back to his station. I see Dawn make a quick trip over to the juke box and the Allman Brothers Band comes on and in another moment the volume of the bar comes back up. The waitresses run their drinks, seeming to put a little effort into bopping along to the tune. I guess they've got a routine down for this sort of occurrence. Little disruptions like that are probably pretty common in bars. Before the song is up, our waitress appears with five bottles of beer on her round tray. We hadn't ordered them, but which she told us were on her.

"Thanks Amy," Hoyt offers. He'd made his way around to Holly, and we still hadn't resumed our game.

I take a beer and hand it to Jason, and when he looks up, I hope that my expression is clearly reading, "What the fuck?" since it's about the only thing on my mind right now.

"Not now," Jason tells me. I keep glaring at him. I am not feeling like a patient man right now.

"Hey Jas, I got ten bucks that says you can't clear this table," Hoyt calls down.

"I got twenty says I do, and me and Eric beat you next game too," he replies, sounding a little more like himself.

He shrugs off my hard look and moves toward the pool table. I'm basically forced to step back and leave him to it. He clears the table and I stand there like a sulking man-boy waiting to find out why we almost threw down with two skeezy hillbillies, and more specifically why one of them felt compelled to refer to Sookie's ass. We make it through the next game and the rematch. We come out twenty dollars ahead, which Jason keeps. He heads off to men's room and I go ahead and settle the tab for everyone. I leave a nice tip for our waitress, and one for Dawn as well, since she'd put herself in harm's way.

Holly and Hoyt head out after that, thanking me for getting the drinks and telling me it was nice to meet me. They seem like an alright couple. I'll probably be seeing them again at some point. J.B. heads back to the bar to appreciate the renewed attentions of Dawn and Jason and I head out to his truck.

"You good to drive?" I ask him. He seems pretty in control of himself, but I check anyway. He responds by standing on one foot, holding out his arms and tapping his two index fingers back and forth on his nose a couple of times. I can't resist the urge to slide my foot toward him across the gravel, not hitting him, but close enough to make him flinch and stumble from his showing off. We get in his truck after that. He's fine to drive.

He backs out of the parking lot and starts the drive back to Sookie's house.

"So who were those guys? Mack and Tom?" I ask.

Jason gives me a sidelong glance before letting out an uncharacteristically heavy sigh. "That's not really a story you should hear from me."

It clicks then, and I really have no fucking excuse for it not clicking before, except for the fact that I assumed whatever bad thing had happened to her had happened to her at college, or really, any other place than this tiny little town where everyone's a freaking friendly neighbour. Well, almost everyone, apparently.

"He's the one that attacked her," I say flatly. "Mack?"

"Both," Jason confirms.

"In _high school_?" I hiss, outraged.

Jason lets out a long sigh. "Look, I don't know what you know about this, and I don't want to be the one to tell you her business," he says firmly. After a moment of silence he relents, "Neither do I want you bringing this shit up to her, though, so..." he trails off.

"I know she was raped, and I know it was dark and in a shower," I say bluntly. More to the truth, that's what I had surmised, since of all the sex we'd had, that's the only very specific situation where she'd ever reacted with anything but sheer enthusiasm. It had happened twice, though I only connected the dots about the first time after the more noticeable second instance. That's a whole separate issue actually, the fact that when I'm in her proximity I am half-fucking-oblivious to anything but my desire to be even nearer to her. I am still kicking myself over the fact that I was too busy licking her neck and smelling her hair to notice armed muggers stalking us through the streets of New Orleans. Even last week, with Ranger Rick sneaking up on our sexy picnic. Maybe that's why things didn't click sooner. Surely at some point this will wear off.

I hear him draw a wincing breath, like you might if you touch a hot stove or something, and then he sighs. "It was when she used to play volleyball. The uniforms they wore uh. Well you've seen it on tv, I'm sure. And Sook's always looked uh, like Sook does," he explains. Yeah, I get the picture. The sixteen year old version of her perfect tits and ass encased in small amounts of spandex. Any other fucking context and I would have enjoyed the mental image. "So that's always been a popular spectator sport around here," he says quickly. "Anyway, they got her in the locker room after a game. It was one we couldn't go to, cause I was in football then, and Gran and I were at the other game, so she'd stayed late of all the team. She was alone."

"Why aren't they in jail?" I ask.

Another sigh. "Well we didn't find out until later. Uh. I guess they had left her, and she cleaned herself up and walked home. Six miles. We were already home and Gran was making supper in the kitchen when she came in, and Gran knew something was wrong, but she didn't tell us what. I guess they didn't beat her, they just held her down. So there weren't really any marks for us to see. And she'd been playing, so maybe even if there was something... we just didn't... Then she wouldn't go to school for two days, and then when she was going to go back she said she was quitting volleyball so Gran set her down at that point and coaxed it out of her. Sookie didn't want to do anything at first, but Gran went to the coach and the principal and they said it was hard to prove anything."

"Bullshit," I call.

"Yeah. It would have been really easy to prove, considering she'd never been with anyone like that before. But I guess that's just her word. There's a lot of girls everyone knows are good girls, but it turns up they're really not. So her just saying she was, I guess it's not enough."

I slam my fist into the door at that point. Jason shoots me a look, but is smart enough not to say anything else.

"Anyway, Sookie didn't want to be uh...examined... any more than that. So Gran just let it lie."

"And that's it?"

"Well, that was it for a week or two, but then Mack and Tom started bragging. I heard that, then I laid out both of them, and we all got suspended. They got it for more than me, cause they believed me when I said I was defending my sister, and they knew damn well why, too, but it was still only a couple of weeks. So Hoyt and me went up to Monroe and bought a lot of pot and put it in little bags and stuck it in their lockers, enough so it looked liked they were selling it. So they got expelled."

"Fuck."

"We didn't know what else to do. I told Gran afterwards, but she gave it her blessing."

"It's not enough."

"No."

"If I had known..." I start to say.

"That's the reason no one said anything," Jason says. Then after a moment, "Look, don't mention this to Sookie. I mean if it comes up again, fine, tell her what I told you, but don't just drag shit out of her and make her talk about it. I think that's the only time I ever saw her mad at Gran, was after she made Sookie confess it."

"No." I agree. I hadn't planned on that at all. "No," I say again.

"And don't go in there acting all weird."

"Right," I say.

"You need a minute?" Jason asks. I guess at some point we'd gotten back to the house.

"Yeah," I agree.

He leaves me alone then and I sit in his truck for another minute or two before getting out and pacing the perimeter of the property. It's a cool evening and the dew from the grass is soaking my cuffs but I'm not terribly concerned about that. I can see that the light in the back bedroom is off, so she's gone to sleep. This is a good thing. Unless she's up and is wondering what I'm still doing out here. No, she probably would have come to check by now. Jason and I hadn't really agreed what, if anything, to mention, so I'm just going to go ahead and mention nothing, and try to act as though that's what's wrong. Nothing.

Is anything wrong? No. No, I guess not. It certainly answers a few lingering questions. Why a seriously hot straight girl would spend the bulk of her college years doing charity work on the weekends with other straight girls, for example. What she had meant about it taking her a long time to be comfortable with her body. Fuck, that was another red flag that had flown right past me. I thought maybe she meant because she's not model-thin or something, unless you mean a pinup model. But I should have known she's bright enough to realize she's a knockout. Maybe why she'd been with someone like Compton. Because though it was clear he treated her like an object, it was at least a very precious object.

The circumstance itself isn't a revelation at this point, but the details are. That makes it feel like something I have to deal with. I know that I don't. I know myself that she would probably prefer not to have to think about it. That I shouldn't think about it, and should emphatically _not_ call attention to it. Maybe some night we will have this talk. Not tonight. I go inside and the house is quiet. I creep down to the end of the hall to her bedroom. Fuck, it's dark in here. I take very careful steps, letting my feet come down slowly so I don't trip on anything.

"Hey," she says in the darkness. Damn it. "Did you guys have fun?"

"Sorry if I woke you," I whisper. Why am I whispering? She's clearly still awake. Well, at least I can turn the light on. I quickly strip my clothes off and answer her questions about our boys' night out. What can I talk about? Everything that happened before Mack and Tom came in, I guess. So I mention J.B. and I slip into bed with her, responding to her questions with nonsense about playing pool and my being, as she puts it, "boyfriend-y." I try to shift the conversation back to her.

"Did you girls have fun?"

"Nope," she says. So much for that. Then she tells me that Crystal intimated that Sookie is a gold-digging whore, which is absurd, so I laugh, and that is apparently the wrong thing to do because she gets very defensive. I try to comfort her, but apparently I get that wrong as well because now she's telling me she wishes that I had no gold for her to be accused of digging. This is just going from bad to worse. She realizes it too because now she's back-pedalling. Fuck this. I pull my arms around her. At least this bed is incredibly comfortable. I just want to fall asleep holding on to her so that one thing in the last two hours can be _right_.

"Sookie, I'm going to go to sleep now," I tell her. And I do. I'm out within minutes.

I wake exactly as I'd fallen asleep, wrapped around her. I feel like a dick for just passing out while she was still awake and fretting, and speaking of my dick... no. Not going to wake her up for sex with her brother in the house. I do need to piss though, and that's pretty urgent, so I get up. I'm also very thirsty and there's no cup in the bathroom so I go out to the kitchen. Jason's already up. I glance down. Oh good. I am wearing pants. I don't usually, when I sleep.

"Morning," I mutter, as I get a glass of water and then proceed to drink it down like I'm coming out of the desert.

"Sookie talk to you?" he asks.

"About what?" I ask, refilling my glass from the tap.

"She and Crystal had words last night," Jason clarifies.

"Oh yeah. I brushed it off. I had other shit on my mind last night."

Jason gives me a nod before continuing, "Crystal's real upset. She said Sook took something the wrong way, but I think that means she said it the wrong way."

"If I'm being honest, I don't want to deal with this at all today," I say bluntly.

"Yeah, that's about how I feel."

I get my third glass of water and I'm finally able to drink at a normal pace. We hear one of them moving around in the hall. It's closer, so it's probably Crystal.

"So I'm going over to the other house in a bit," Jason tells me. "Just to check in on things. You can come. Leave them to sort themselves out."

"Sounds fine," I agree.

"Alright. Half an hour then."

I nod and put my glass down in the sink and head back to the bedroom. Sookie's still asleep. She's got her arm sprawled out on the bed where I was sleeping, like she was looking for me. That is cute. I get in the shower. Out of habit I rub one out, slouched against the wall of this tiny shower with the water hitting only my chest. It is unsatisfying given that my girlfriend is laying a dozen feet away. I could have her, but for the fact that her family is here, and that I've just been reminded she's probably going to wake up in a lousy mood anyway because she's fighting with one of them. I finish with nary a grunt or a groan. This is basically scratching and itch or blowing my nose. Obviously it feels good, but it's more about relief. I try to remember what Sookie said last night. Apparently Crystal perceived me to be slumming here. Well, that only indicates some serious insecurity on her part. I don't consider this house or this town a slum. Clearly a case of misery demanding company on Crystal's part. Not my problem.

Jason has the right idea about us getting out of here until they can work this out. I'm not comfortable being around Crystal at this point, and I'm not thrilled with her for making Sookie feel uncomfortable either. I know that Sookie is not completely at ease with the disparity between our respective incomes and wealth. I have gathered this from a few offhand remarks she's made as well as the way that she keeps paying for things when we go out. I believe she does it to show that she cares enough to spend her money on me and us. I try to take it that way anyway, as opposed to seeing it as her wanting to maintain separateness and distance between us. It also seems to be a matter of pride for her, which I am disinclined to rob her of. Sookie seems to get more out of my pulling out her chair for her than paying for our meal, which I suppose is a good thing. I am looking forward to reaching the point where these things are no longer a concern.

I hear a knocking on the wall just outside the shower so I pull back the curtain to see Sookie. The knocking in itself verifies that I had called it right about her waking up in an off mood. She is frowning and looking nervous, which I do not like when it comes to me. And of course she wants to talk about Crystal, and I do not. And we're not having sex, so I see no point to her joining me in here, and besides, I'm almost done. I tell her so and she looks crestfallen, so I quickly grab her hand and remind her that we are okay before telling her to go get dressed.

I do finish up quickly, and I can hear that they're all in the kitchen. I assume that whatever smells so good is Crystal's doing, just based on the timing. Maybe it's a peace offering. I'm fine with the plan which involves not sitting through an awkward meal where nobody is talking and leaving immediately instead. I go ahead and take my time getting dressed and towelling dry my hair a little bit. It would probably be overkill to shave too. Besides, Sookie likes the weekend stubble.

Damn Crystal. I can smell bacon, and either pancakes or waffles. Nope, sticking to Plan A. I'm just getting consistently more annoyed the more I dwell on this subject. As an adult, I've never really had an issue with spending money on women in the past. I have it to spend, and some have enjoyed spending it. Perhaps this might have bothered me if I cared any more about them than they did of me. It's never come up before, so I consider myself fortunate in this way. School was slightly different, particularly once we were old enough to realize that there were some big differences in people's home lives. Again, I don't consider that I ever allowed myself personally to be taken advantage of in this way, but I suppose it's fair to say that I've always stayed aware of the potential for that.

I head to the kitchen and offer Jason a pointed glare when I see he's eating. I suppose I would have eaten if Sookie had cooked, but I had hoped he wouldn't so we could stop and get something. I give Sookie a quick kiss and ask Jason if he's ready to go and he finishes up quickly while I head outside. I completely ignore Crystal and I'm glad that Jas isn't making an issue of that.

At my request we stop for coffee at a gas station convenience store. It's surprisingly good. In lieu of a proper meal I also get a protein bar. These things are nasty but they fill your stomach. Jason's house isn't large, but it's definitely large enough for a small family. It's a lot bigger than the place Sookie's renting, though hers is two storeys, and possibly more compact. I can see a little bit of blue tarp sticking out over the roof in front, but other than that you can barely notice the damage. You wouldn't, if you were just driving by. I can see some smoke stains in a couple of the front windows. Around the back is a different story all together. First of all, the smell. I catch it as soon as we get near the house, faintly, but it intensifies around the back, and no wonder. There's a sort of burned out shell where it's clear a deck used to be, with some yellow tape surrounding the remnants of what was once the back wall, barring entry.

Jason heads off to his shed a little distance from the house and untouched by the fire, and I continue circling the back of the ruin. I know Sookie's pretty torn up about the fact that this place is going to have to be torn down, but it's pretty obvious why that has to happen once you see it.

"Well so much for that," Jason calls, heading over to me. I look up, waiting for his explanation. "Crystal had her cousin come and get her and go up to Shreveport for the day."

"They didn't talk then?" I ask.

"Seems not."

I give a pained sigh. "Do we go back then?"

"Nah," Jason says. "Hey, come down, I'll show you the lake."

I can see the lake through the trees at the base of the property. There's a little dock and a little boat with a little motor. Jason motions to get in the dinghy and I probably look skeptical as I watch him. It doesn't really seem large enough for two.

"Relax, there's no sail to hit you upside the head," he calls over. Hilarious. I guess I have to get on this fucking boat then.

Jason is crouched at the back to operate the motor, leaving me to occupy the bow. It's cramped but seems to be just large enough for two. I squat down pretty quickly. I actually do not care for this at all, but apparently forced calm is the theme of the weekend. He starts up the motor and we skim out into the lake at a slow pace.

"You fish out here?" I ask conversationally.

"Yeah, I keep it stocked," he says. "You fish?"

"I never have, no."

"Ah, too bad. It's relaxin'," he says.

I ask him how that works, since I have no idea. He explains that the fishery brings in a couple of hundred pounds of small fish of different varieties so there's a balance. He says that he hasn't had to do it in couple of years as he's got a nice population going now. I'm surprised to learn that he's actually able to eat what he catches in here, it's not just catch and release.

"I guess you never learned to gut a fish then," he observes.

I chuckle. "No."

"I'll show you some time. Sookie does Gran's battered catfish, but she won't clean the fish."

"Sure," I agree. Why the hell not? I can chop off fish heads, probably. "You hunt too, right?" I ask.

"Just deer," he says, then, "Crap. Just realized I lost all that good venison from the freezer."

"Have you tried on that land she's got next door yet?" I ask.

He gives me a funny look. "Uh, hunting season doesn't start until November," he chuckles. "Not exactly an outdoorsman, are ya?" he asks, in response to what is apparently my lack of common knowledge. I've got nothing to offer here, so I just shrug. "That's alright. We'll learn ya up," he smirks at his own joke, or possibly his own phrasing.

I try to relax a little bit and enjoy what actually is a pretty peaceful ride. He does not feel compelled to chat much more and that is also nice. We stay out for about twenty minutes, maybe half an hour before he decides we should be getting back. On the way up past the house I ask him if he's planning to rebuild or buy elsewhere, and he tells me he's not sure. He also admits he's not thrilled to be staying at their Gran's house again, but he's grateful for the place in the interim. I nod to that. On the way back he identifies where the land that Sookie got from Compton begins. I'm not yet terribly familiar with the area here, but it seems like it's a fair ways from her house. I ask if he's seen the old house that's being surveyed today and he turns us in to the very narrow non-road that is apparently the driveway of the ruined house. We see another large pickup truck parked out in front of a semi-dilapidated plantation house and Sookie is there, talking to a big guy in a green shirt and a blue construction hat.

"Heh, this guy," Jason chuckles. "Watch this guy," he says, and I take his tone to be slightly warning.

"I thought he was supposed to be good?" I ask. Sookie had spoken well of her dealings with this firm so far, and I know Jason and Crystal also used him to assess the fire damage.

"Oh yeah, he knows his business," Jason agrees. "I meant watch him around Sook. He brought her up like three times when he was out at the house the other day," he laughs. Screw that.

"I see," I answer flatly.

"Yeah, so does everybody else and I never fail to hear about it," he says, rolling his eyes. I've also gotten this impression.

We get out of the truck and I head over to Sookie, curling my arm around her hip and pulling her to me. Just so we're real clear about who in this party is entitled to _bring things up_ re: my girl. Jason starts chatting to this Alcide and I return the appraising look he gives me with a slight nod and a faint smile. I listen to her tell me all about mosquitoes and the fact that she saved me breakfast in the oven. That's right, guy. Because I'm being shamelessly possessive at this point, I let him watch as my hand lingers on her ass when I help her up into the truck as we leave. Hopefully he saw the sexy little smile she shot me over her shoulder as I did it, too.

We spend the rest of the morning rearranging the truck and packing up the remaining boxes, then carrying out everything else as she packs it. She's apparently promised Alcide lunch, and rather than taking it over to him, she calls him to come over and join us. It's chicken pasta salad with peas and carrots and onions and it's welcome. Alcide starts telling her all about the "creepy crawlies" down underneath the house and she starts squirming in her seat a little bit so I take the opportunity to reach over with a comforting hand on her thigh. He's either stupid or attempting to rise to the challenge because he just keeps on talking and grinning at her, his attention coming to Jason and I only sporadically. She seems pretty blind to what he's doing so it's ultimately harmless.

Jason goes back with him after lunch. They're planning on laying some board down on the porch so it can be safely walked on. I'm left more or less to watch Sookie pack, carrying away boxes as she finishes them. I notice at some point that she's posted a list on the fridge with stuff she needs to buy immediately for the new apartment. Jason turns up again and she suggests that he and I work on cleaning some of the stuff that was brought over from his house and is now sitting here in her living room. Unfortunately, this is my limit. I do not find any sense of calm or restfulness in doing housework. At home, I have a housekeeper who comes a few times a week. I have limited free time, and this is not how I choose to spend it. This is also not really a skill I have. In short, I'm not interested in doing this. One look at Jason and I realize that we are on exactly the same page. She leaves us with some cleaning supplies and goes back to the bedroom.

"She needs a microwave," I tell Jason. "We should go and buy her one."

He'd opened a box and had started resignedly wiping down some of the objects therein with the orange-scented spray she'd left us.

"What kind?" he asks.

"Uh. One for the counter. The kitchen is mostly white but her stove is black."

"Sounds like a two man job," Jason agrees, catching on quickly.

"Oh definitely," I deadpan. "It's an important appliance."

Jason grins and I duck into the kitchen and grab her list off the refrigerator and hand it to him with a little push back towards the hall.

"Tell her you want to get her a present for the house," I advise. He chuckles and goes off to do just that. A moment later, she returns with him and gives me a look to indicate that she knows exactly what this is about, and her awareness relieves me of any guilt I might have felt about shirking her brother's cleaning. I kiss her solidly before we go and she just smirks at me and tells me to have fun.

It's about half an hour's ride to the big appliance store a couple of towns over. Jason has decided that since we're doing this, we will do it properly. I glance at my watch and agree wholeheartedly. We can easily kill a couple of hours on this little errand. I don't actually do a lot of shopping. This is something that Pam does. She is the one who got my place set up for me in Seattle, and she'll probably end up setting up my place back here, too, if I go that route. I'm still undecided. As an interesting point of reference, there are a lot of different microwaves on the market. It's unclear to me why there are so many, as this seems like a fairly standard piece of equipment. There are small and large sizes, and ones that mount over the stove. They come in black, white, or stainless steel. That would seem to indicate nine choices. We browse through at _least_ fifty. We choose a mid-sized white one that to me looks sort of retro, insofar as a microwave can look retro, so I think it will fit in well with her kitchen. I go for my wallet when we reach the register since this was my idea, but Jason gives me a hard punch and tells me no.

On the way back to the house he flips on the radio, unselfconsciously singing along. I am surprised to hear that he sings well. Sookie sings along to the radio sometimes, and I'm being generous when I describe it that way. I suppose I'd expected her inability to carry a tune to be a family trait. I don't judge. I'm not musically inclined myself, but then again, I know that and I do not try. I guess I was staring.

"What?" Jason asks.

"Oh. You can sing," I explain lamely.

"Eighteen years worth of Sunday service will do that to ya," he grins. He'd been made to sing at church, I take it.

Thinking of Sookie again I say, "You sure about that?"

He must catch my meaning because he lets out a huge bark of laughter. "It's funny 'cause she tries so hard. Gran used to get on me for teasing her. Sook's never been a singer. She used to like to dance."

"Still does," I agree.

He nods. "This one time, she and her friend went in the talent show at school..." and then he proceeds to tell me a story about a very naïve Sookie and her friend doing a very grownup, very provocative music-video dance in front of the entire student body of her high school. To the tune of Love is a Battlefield. He's laughing it off of course. I don't know if I'd find it as funny, my own sister unwittingly behaving like jailbait. Apparently it's the part where she saw a recording of it a couple of years later, as part of the "video yearbook," and her mortification then, that was so amusing to him. I find myself chuckling along. I would have liked to see that, and I tell him so. This is definitely an integral part of coming home to spend time with the girlfriend's family, is it not?

Sookie doesn't have any proper yearbooks from when she was in school. I don't either, though the reasons we didn't get them were different. I didn't particularly care to buy one, whereas she had never wanted to ask her grandmother for the money to do so. I guess in small schools like theirs had been, the leather-bound books with their glossy photos can be quite expensive. She'd seemed embarrassed about it (needlessly), and I hadn't brought up the subject again. There are a bunch of photos of the child version of Sookie in her house. I would like to see more of these embarrassing high school moments though. Affectionately. Suddenly I'm back to the other association I now have with Sookie and her high school experience, and it sobers me. And that makes me angry. Somehow I think Jason picks up on it, because he starts talking about something else. We are unlikely to speak directly on the sobering subject again.

Back at the house I see Crystal's car is back, and I'm hoping that Sookie and she have had their chance to talk now. I get the door for Jason as he carries the microwave. I can see that Sookie's left a few more boxes for us to carry out to the truck. Jason sets the package down on the kitchen table and Crystal comes in, obviously having heard whatever noise we made on entering. Jason gives her a quick kiss in greeting and asks where Sookie is, and Crystal grabs a note off the counter. Jason takes it, scans it, then hands it to me. Sookie is over at the house next door getting the report from the surveyor. I find myself frowning that she's over there alone with that guy. Jason tells me there's a path up through the cemetery. I'm vaguely aware of the fact that Crystal and Jason are talking about going to pick up pizzas for dinner as I head back out the door.

I'm not sure if Sookie now owns this little cemetery, or if it's just in the middle of her land at this point. It seems to be fairly well maintained, but that could easily be Jason's doing. Sookie has mentioned coming here to tend to the graves of her family members. This is not something I have ever had occasion to do. Come to think of it, prior to Grandfather's funeral, I can't remember having ever been in a cemetery before. There's a path on the far side leading uphill which is overgrown but showing some signs of being recently used, so I assume I'm heading the right away. I catch sight of the roof of the house and my feeling of sureness lasts about thirty more seconds until I come upon Sookie in the embrace of that fucking Alcide guy right there on the porch.

She locks eyes on me immediately and is already stepping away from him by the time I'm two steps onto the driveway. She looks...startled. Not quite scared, which is good for him. I've seen her scared. This isn't what it looks like. She doesn't look guilty, either, which is good for both of them. Unable to draw any actual conclusions, I just make a bee-line for her. This guy is backing off, good. He's telling me she tripped. I scan her for signs damage and see nothing. She's going pink in the face now. Normally I find that adorable but not in this context. Is that the guilt? Embarrassment that she's been caught? I don't believe she has been cheating on me, but was she about to? She's just not the type of person who would ever, so honestly, what the fuck? This asshole is now talking about emailing her and I round to face him.

"Thank you. Please send _us_ your bill," I tell him. Is that clear enough? Since my hands all over her whenever you've seen us all day were ostensibly not? By the way, leave. Now. I feel her hands on my back, tugging at my shirt. Does she actually think that will stop me if I decide to deck this guy? I'm reminded that I wish I'd laid out either or both of those fuckers from last night. I should have had Jason come up here with me. I am confident he would back me up in this situation. Alcide does the brightest thing I've seen him do to date, getting in his truck and driving away. I watch him out of sight before I round on her and demand to know what happened. She says she did trip, in the house, and was going to trip again and he caught her. Again I look her over. She's got dust and dirt on her, but she's had dust and dirt on her all day from her packing efforts.

"Can you walk?" I ask. I just need to get her, and myself, out of here at this point. When she nods I just take her hand and lead her. Answers will come when I'm back on familiar ground. I know I'm walking too fast. I'm accustomed to the sound of her quick steps behind me and think nothing of it. Most of the time I try to walk slower for her sake, but we're not exactly out for an evening stroll here. Jason and Crystal are still gone when we get back to the house. She pulls her hand free of mine when we enter and I'm halfway down the hall to the bedroom when I realize she's no longer behind me. I double back to see her hunched in a chair pulling the leg of her jeans up.

Fuck.

She's bleeding, and her knee is definitely swollen. "You did fall," I say stupidly. She looks hurt when she answers, asking if I thought she was making that up. Fuck. I stand there watching as she gets up and makes herself an ice pack and then takes some aspirin. She moves gingerly past me, teetering down the hall on her hurt knee. Was she walking like that the whole time? Fuck. I stand there thinking back and trying to determine how to proceed, and the best I come up with is to go and apologize, and possibly explain. I don't feel completely wrong, but not making sure she was alright was definitely an error, although she hadn't looked injured and she had told me she was fine. I'm not going to walk in there and grovel. She's not receptive to anything disingenuous. I should probably go in there now though.

I do, and I tell her where Jason and Crystal are, and that Alcide has indicated his interest in her to Jason, so she knows that I wasn't acting like an ass just out of the blue. She tells me again that on her part at least, what I saw was nothing. I apologize for overreacting, and that's not what she wants to hear. She's laying on the bed icing up her knee and she turns away from me looking disappointed. Fuck. I go to her and force her to look at me, and I apologize for doubting her. I did. Even if logic kicked in and told me she wasn't up to anything, I'd still had the thought, and let it fuel my anger, and probably gotten her more hurt physically in the process, let alone her feelings, which are clearly also injured. I can see that as she tries to turn away again. Fuck. Forgive me. I ask her with my eyes possibly more than my words which are failing me at this point. I see her relent, with a physical reaction, sighing out and nodding.

I lay down next to her and try to bring us back to normalcy by asking her about the house. I listen as she tells me all the things which need mending, all the things Alcide had shown her. Her account is detailed and thorough. There is nothing going on there from her end. She only mentions the house. She's going to offer it to Jason and Crystal, and I agree that it's a good solution. I would actually agree with more or less anything that she is saying right now, but I do happen to think her idea is a good one. She would never want to live there both because the house came to her from Compton, and because she likes this house. I might not be entitled to voice an opinion at this point, but I do have one, and I agree with her on both counts. Jason is definitely a "doer" and that house will be a good project for him. She hints that she'll help them with money for the renovations, which will make her feel good. That probably means she's not looking to buy her own house in New Orleans any time soon. This would be a good thing. When the time comes for me to buy a house for us, I won't be pissing on her parade when I overwrite her plans with grander ones of my own.

Her stomach growls under my hand, and since I'd heard Jason and Crystal come in, I offer to bring her some food. She agrees, so I head out to the kitchen where Crystal and Jason are sitting at the table eating a quiet dinner. I want to start by fixing her a fresh ice pack. I don't know where they keep the plastic bags so I just start opening drawers and cabinets.

"Whaddya need?" Jason asks.

"A bag for ice?" I ask. "Sookie fell and banged her knee next door, and I'm an asshole and dragged her back across the cemetery on it without checking to see how bad it was," I admit.

"She okay?" Crystal asks.

I glance over at her, and she's standing and walking to the pantry and retrieving a box of freezer bags for me.

"Thanks," I say. "And yeah, she's okay, but she's going to stay off it for the night. Hey, do you think we could borrow a couple of movies or something? Hers are all packed."

"Sure," Jason agrees, but it's Crystal who retreats to their bedroom to retrieve a handful of selections. I bring them to Sookie along with the ice and ask her to set them up on her laptop, which I hand over to her so she doesn't have to get up. I go back to get us some pizza, and Jason tells me just to take one of the boxes, so I do, along with a couple of cans of soda. That's how we spend the evening, with her getting up only to get ready for bed, an opportunity I take to rid the room of the remnants of our dinner and her ice pack.

I wake up to banging on the door followed by someone shoving my arm.

"Get up," someone tells me. Male voice. Jason.

"What? Your brother," I mumble. I reach for Sookie so she can banish him but my arm finds only the cool and vacant mattress.

"The girls went to church and left nothing for breakfast," he complains. Oh yeah. Come to think of it, Sookie did tell me she was leaving, but I guess I thought that was a dream. "I want doughnuts," Jason declares.

"Then go get some," I say, turning back over.

"I found this. I think you'll be interested to see," he says, hitting me with something light.

"What's 'this'?" I grumble, face in the pillow.

"Video yearbook." I turn over. He's standing there with a big broad grin. I go to grab the dvd box from him but he pulls it out of my reach. He's already heading for the door. "Get up," he calls over his shoulder. I do.

I trudge out to the kitchen and meet Jason who seems abnormally energized. I will add 'morning person' to the sibling similarities. I'm not _not_ a morning person per se, I just strongly dislike being robbed of sleep. I've found in the past couple of months that I mind significantly less when I'm waking up to Sookie. That is not the case this morning so I let myself be lethargic. In the truck, Jason starts singing along to music again as he cruises us down the vacant roads. It's a crisp clear morning, not very hot yet. We pull up to a little bakery that looks like it's out of the fifties or something, with an old fashioned pink sign and fresh baked goods in the window. I breathe in the confectionary aroma wafting through the air out here and there must be an appreciative look on my face since Jason hits me again and grins saying, "Right?"

There's a line inside, but a girl asks us for our coffee order right away so we can sip while we wait. It's a nice touch. The girl is young, but she's still got an extra big smile for Jason, who she knows by name. This guy really does have the attention of every woman in this town. She's got a smile for me too, but I don't return it. I'm probably nearly twice her age. Lest I seem hypocritical in this moment, considering the lure which even got me out of bed this morning, I will clarify. The prospect of getting a glimpse of the high school version of my future wife is, to use her own phrasing, a _different kettle of fish_ than the non-prospect of returning the flirtations of a random young woman. I sip my coffee. Gruffly.

The older woman at the counter also greets Jason with a smile and scolds him for not being in church. He calls her Toots. I am put forward as his excuse, and introduced as belonging to Sookie. This earns me a more appraising look and finally a nod of approval. We order a dozen doughnuts, and she ends up giving us each an extra glazed one, "to eat now." I take a bite and it is amazingly good. The pair of them laugh at me as I quickly finish the pastry. My response meets their approval. Toots declares that I will fit in fine. Charlsie Tooten, Jason clarifies when we're back in the truck, had been a friend of their parents'. I make to open the box and get another doughnut but Jason snatches it away.

"What?" I ask.

"I don't know how you treat that sweet little blue Corvette of yours, but there's no eating in here," he tells me. Ah. Well yes. Of course not.

"Right, sorry," I offer.

He lets about a minute go by before he reaches over and takes a doughnut out of the box at random, taking a huge bite. I let him have his snicker before joining in. Then I help myself to another doughnut.

Back at the house I decide to brew a pot of coffee, having finished the cup I got at the bakery. On my asking, Jason shows me where the measuring equipment is kept, then watches as measure the tap water into the carafe, then add the twenty leveled tablespoons into the little mesh basket. He's got his head cocked to the side and seems fascinated, so I'm assuming that normally Crystal makes his coffee. The coffee maker I own uses the pre-packaged containers to brew a single cup, but I have used coffee makers like this before. Pam has one. They're pretty easy, and the instructions are on the side of the coffee tin anyway. Once I push the button to get it started, I turn to him and demand my copy of the video yearbook. He takes it out of the freezer, where he had apparently hidden it in the event that I had tried to search it out instead of accompanying him to get breakfast. I would not have thought to look for it there.

He goes off to watch the ESPN morning shows, and I take another couple of doughnuts with me and head back to the bedroom to turn on Sookie's laptop. The video is short, only about forty-five minutes total, and I stream through it at four times normal speed until I catch what looks like a stage, but this is only some footage of a play or something. It takes a bit more searching until I find the actual portion of the tape that I was curious to see. Sookie and a friend are dressed in matching short jean shorts and baggy red t-shirts knotted at their waists, thrusting against each other to the garbled music of Pat Benatar. The scene ends abruptly with a close-up shot on a man holding a microphone, red faced and mouthing at the air like a fish out of water. I suppose he had been the MC of the event. There's an eruption of cheering and hooting before the video cuts away again, this time to a football game. I shut off the rest of the stream of her high school's collective memories.

It was pretty tame. For some reason I'd been envisioning a burlesque show or something. The girl in the video had been clearly recognizable as Sookie, but the actual Sookie has a much better body. Her legs are far more toned, and she'd do a better job of filling out the shirt. I wouldn't mind seeing the now-version of her in those shorts. On impulse I go to her dresser and started looking through it. Everything she's taking to New Orleans is already packed away, but I know she's left some old things behind here. I find a pair of tiny shorts that look like they could be the ones I'd seen. Then I hear the crunch of gravel on the driveway. I duck out of the bedroom and go out to the porch to check. Sookie and Crystal are sitting in Crystal's car, and Sookie waves me away, so I suppose they're finally having their talk. Good. I go back to Sookie's room and set her things to rights, tucking the video yearbook away in my suitcase. I'm just setting Sookie's laptop bag over with the rest of our luggage when there's a knock at the door.

"Yeah?" I ask to the open air, and Crystal comes in.

"Um, Eric, do you have a moment?"

I raise an eyebrow at her, but beckon her to go ahead.

"I just wanted to apologize to you, for what I said to Sookie on Friday night," she begins.

"Look, it's really Sookie you need to talk to. I'm happy to ignore you, but she can't. She actually gets upset, because she's nothing like what you said she was."

"I know that," she says. "I did talk to her, and apologized for upsetting her."

I cut her off again. "That doesn't cut it with her. You don't apologize for her getting upset. If you apologize to her for anything, apologize for pushing your insecurities in her face, and forcing her to feel bad. I don't really care what you think of me, but for the record, I'm not "slumming," here, or with Sookie."

"I know that, and I'm sorry," Crystal says contrite, but I'm not finished.

"She's going to be your sister in a month, and her family is important to her, what little she has."

"I know that."

"Good," I relent. Maybe I could go on and make her feel worse, but it's just not worth it. She needs to deal with whatever issues she has internally. Pushing her at this point will likely only make her lash out again, and that's not the note we need to leave here on.

"Family is important to me too." Then after a moment, "By the way you two seem, I reckon that could apply here as well some day," she says, gesturing between she and I.

I look at her for a long moment, and then nod. It is true. I suppose she's going to be my sister as well. Odd. I hadn't actually thought of that prior to now.

"So I'm sorry, Eric, for misjudging you both, and for being hateful in that moment. It's not how I really feel. I just wanted you to know that."

She moves to leave but I feel compelled to say something else, in light of my little revelation. "Crystal," I say, and she turns back around. "I...accept that. And... we're fine then."

She gives me a nod and then departs. I wait another moment before going out to find Sookie in the kitchen hovering over the pastry box. I wrap my arms around her and she asks me how our talk went, and I reassure her that we're okay. We need to get going pretty quickly since we still have a couple of hours of unloading the truck ahead of us once we make it back to New Orleans. She nods and we head back to the bedroom so we can change. Idly I toss her the pair of shorts I'd found.

"I think I got most things straightened up in here," I say casually. "I didn't know if you meant to pack those."

She holds them up and laughs, "I haven't worn these since high school." You don't say.

"Do they still fit?" I ask casually.

She shimmies out of her sundress and slides them on, turning to look down at herself. They definitely still fit. They're tight, and even shorter than expected. The curves of her cheeks are plainly visible as she twists around, trying to catch a glimpse of her own backside. She looks up at me, asking for my opinion.

"Like a caterpillar embraces a butterfly," I say, letting my voice drop low, stepping over to her and planting a kiss.

"More like Daisy Dukes," she smirks. She pulls away from me and strips the shorts off, opting instead for a pair of jeans that fit her equally snugly, though less revealingly. I snatch up the shorts and pack them away into my bag. She lifts her eyebrows and I merely grin.


End file.
